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NOVA SCOTIA SCHOOL SERIES. 
 
 THE 
 
 ADVANCED HEADER. 
 
 No. VII. 
 
 \ 
 
 mm 
 
 HALIFx\X: 
 
327/ 
 
 -/, 
 
 '1/di 
 
 Z/R 
 
 f 
 
 k 
 
 rKOVIN'CS OF XOVA SCOIIA. 
 
 He II lemenibcrea that on this third day of Xnveniber, A.n. ISBd, A. A W. 
 MacK.nlay, of the city of Halifax, in said Province, have deposited In this 
 office the title of a book, the copyright whereof they claim iu the word* 
 followlnR: "Nova Scotia Scilcs: The Advanced Reader, No. VII.," and 
 authorized by the Council of Puhlic Instruction, Halifax, Nova .Scotia. 
 
 A. A \V. MACKIM..\y, 
 tn conforiulty to chapter one hundred and sixteen of the Revised .Statutea 
 
 CIIAKLKS TUPrElt, hovincial SeceUvy 
 
 
 d 
 
I 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 W. 
 
 Ida 
 
 ,11 J 
 
 ^ 
 
 ^a.n 1, .u„ a „,„. t. the. ..„„,„. „ E„„ J,;;: L^ 
 
 of .l.e „ .re of . ,„,Wr „.,„ ,!,„ „,. ,,,.,„„. ., „; ;"■-' 
 ot the following characteristics :— 
 l.<, Tl,„ fc .ubiect b, „.e „,,i„l, b„y, „„ ,^„„ 
 
 n ., be ,„,„, app,el,e„,led. and apeedil, breu^ht h,„,e .0 the he.,' 
 «n the fee,,.,,,, for i. e.„„et be e,,«u.a t,,.. tbosepo J.!;. 
 
 .n he p„. ,.„. „^„ ^ ^^^ ^.^^^ ^^.^.^ ^^^ ^^^^ ^^^ 
 
 S,d, lb.. st„„g,,„,artrf .hefrle., peeuliariUe, abound ,„,,,„ 
 
 T.e.cb piece ha, been prefi.ej a ve,i bri.f nofc of a, .,„,b„ „„, 
 vhen necew,, of .be ei,o„™,a„ee. unJer .-hich i. ™ 7^1 !' 
 ^. note, have been ,.« .. explain ..,e„ore ob... IZZ b,^ 
 
 ■""'•• ^*«>ruiv bounds. 
 It is not intended ,b., „,e E„„eta in tbis ™l„„,e be r«,l •„ ,■ „ 
 
 :"" K'"" '"''"' -»"■ ""' "■"- ™ "■« ''•^Z2:z 
 
 c? <?^ 
 
iv 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 should select from day to day such passages as tbey mpy deem most 
 suitable. An attempt has therefore been made at a classification on .1 
 simple and natural principle. It has not, however, been found easy 
 to decide under whicii head certain pieces should most appropriately 
 be ranged, partaking, as many of them do, of the characteristics of 
 more than one class. 
 
 While a large proportion of the specimens now selected liave not 
 previously appeared in any class-book, it will nevertheless be seen that 
 many old favourites have been retained in their place of honour. Some 
 of these may be objected to as hackneyed; but it must be remembered 
 that though familiar to ue, they are fresh to the rising generation; and 
 that if they delighted our youthful fancies, they will be no less success- 
 ful in captivating the minds of our children. 
 
 Example is in all things, proverbially, more powerful than precept ; 
 and this is especially true in training to a correct and tasteful style u( 
 reading. The voice of the teacher and the ear of the pupil are the two 
 great instruments by means of which the desired result must be accom- 
 plished. It has therefore been decided not to cumber this volume with 
 any system of rhetorical canons. Teachers will find any required aid 
 in the "Introduction to the Art of Reading "of the Irish National 
 Series, or Professor Bailey's " Introduction to Elocution." 
 
 ~y 
 
 9 
 
CONTENTa 
 
 TROSE. 
 
 » 
 M 
 16 
 20 
 23 
 26 
 •2H 
 
 ai 
 
 35 
 33 
 
 SECTION I.-HISTORICAL AND DESCRIPTIVE. 
 
 I. DeathofWllllnmlir Lord Af 
 
 V. Death of Marie Antoinette r"^,", ' 
 
 VI. The Cave of Dahra "^ 
 
 vir Th. » .»! ^T, ■ Douglas Jttrohl. 
 
 IX. Vision of Sudden Death "!!"". D ' ol*"' 
 
 X. Lucy Fleming „* Wvtncey. 
 
 Professor Wihon. 
 
 SECTION n.-nCTION. 
 
 I. story of Lc Fevre „, 
 
 ,, _,, „ .^ mitif. 
 
 M. The Brothers Dnrrit ,„ . 
 
 III. The Vlolon of-Mlrza ..^. 
 
 Adduon. 
 
 SECTION ni.-MISCEILANEOUS. 
 
 I. Character of Napoleon „, „. 
 
 ,, _, ' Phtlhps. 68 
 
 H. Character of Washington ,,..„ 
 
 III. Science and Art '"'"^^ "' 
 
 IV. Mountain, Srr D. nr„r,Ur. r,2 
 
 V. Inventive Genius and Labour... p,,. r, ■. 
 
 VT rv 1 c^ ■ ■-» "ui Elihu Burrttl. e,H 
 
 VI Duty of Forgiveness „ ,. 
 
 VTT ir u 1 n . "■ Johnson. fia 
 
 ^ n. M.,v.".h.1 V,;;.e,nA ».,a Arab Chk-Hain w S Landor 70 
 
 Vm. The Deluge, ».S. Landor. 70 
 
 Dr. Outhrie. 73 
 
 .'lO 
 AS 
 
\'1 
 
 COXTEXra 
 
 SECTION IV.-ORATORY. 
 
 I. Cicero for Mllo Ann 
 
 ". ritfs Reply to Walpoiu....... ^^ 
 
 111. I'. Ilcniyon British Uulo 1.7Ame"ricZ." *" 
 
 1\. «'"-ke'» I'ancgyrlc on Sheridan.... " 
 
 V. nurke-s Panegyric on Marie Antoinotte " 
 
 »nr. Curran on Freedom *''* 
 
 jx. Fox on tho Suspension';;;";;;:;;:,;;; c^;;;;;:,";;::: ii 
 
 X Uebster on Slavery i„ the United States "" 
 
 X . Brougham In Defence of Q,.eeu Caroline.. ..'■ "•"' 
 
 XI. KoMuth or. the Hungarian Kevolutlon... "' 
 
 XUI. Gladstone on the Affairs of Greece "* 
 
 XIV. South on Man before tho Fall "" 
 
 XV. Archer Butler on the MuJesty'LTcin';:; '"' 
 
 103 
 
 I'OETJiV 
 
 SECTION I.-HISTORICAL AND DESCRIPTIVE. 
 
 I Triumphs of the English Language.. r ,, r ' 
 
 n. The Threatened Invasion . -^ °- ^'"""■ 
 
 III. The Abbot to Bruce famp6«//. 
 
 IV. Ancient Greece Sir }K ikoll. 
 
 V. Present State of Gr:;::" f *'"''"• 
 
 Vf. Battle of Kllllecrankie '''''"'• 
 
 VII. Death of Leonidas "^""""^ 
 
 VIII. The Plain of Marathon"."." ^^"''• 
 
 IX Alexander's Feast •®*"'<"^ 
 
 X. Marco Bozzaris ^'''"'^"• 
 
 ^i. The cid-s Funeral p;:;;;;;;,;;:::::::::::; -^f^^*- 
 
 XII. Franklin, Sir John J"*>-IUmam. 
 
 XIII. The Avenging Chi;:^ '•/'««cA." - 
 
 XIV. Battle of Bunker's Hill ^"'^^'"'^ 
 
 XV. Belshazzar's Feast ^''"'"'■ 
 
 XVI. The Caves of Dahra-:rvi"v':;: p Drummoml. 
 
 XVII. Charge or the Ugl^B-w'"'" 7""'"' 
 
 X VIII. Scene before the Sie^^e of Corint"h".".":.".".:.::. ^ZT 
 
 XIX. Scene after the Siege'of Corinth IZ' 
 
 XX. Lay of Virginia. '®^'^'"'- 
 
 XXf. TheFateofMacgreg":: ^ord Mcu:auh,y. 
 
 XXir. Tho Destruction of Babel '^"^^^ 
 
 ff^iUiam HoicUt. 
 
 107 
 
 lou 
 
 IK) 
 113 
 114 
 116 
 113 
 120 
 
 la 
 
 \u 
 
 12S 
 
 131 
 
 133 
 
 135 
 
 138 
 
 142 
 
 145 
 
 146 
 
 148 
 
 1.10 
 
 185 
 
 I. -.8 
 
COXTKNTS. 
 
 ... 7rt 
 
 ... 80 
 
 .. 8i 
 
 .. 84 
 
 .. 85 
 
 .. 80 
 
 .. M 
 
 .. 89 
 
 . yo 
 
 . 94 
 . 9S 
 . 9!) 
 
 101 
 
 103 
 
 ♦ ' 
 
 ' At/toun. 
 
 nnidiiK tile Aim o 
 
 XXV. Pitt-Nel»on-Kax *"'"'' 
 
 XXIir. TlielnItindoftlieScon 
 XXIV. Thunder Storm 
 
 XXVI. IvanthoCzur '" ^"' ^*- '^""'■ 
 
 XXVII. A SlUp Sinking ~ZZ fr,.lUman4. 
 
 XXVIII. Tlio Convict iJlilj), 
 
 vii 
 
 P>Kt 
 
 Itil 
 
 li>A 
 
 ICrt 
 
 170 
 
 I'rn/uior WHiof. |73 
 
 • ■..IJtrvey. 
 
 X.MX. Tl.o l>i,« „, tlio Se« F,.lilci. ,, ,, 
 
 XXX. Absalom and Acl.ltoM.cl.... T'" ' 
 
 XXXI. The Leper... ^''"'^"'■ 
 
 XXXII. The Kleld of Wtt'teiioo * "™"' 
 
 XXXIII. The Forcing o, ,he Anchor;.' ^r 
 
 X.V.XIV. Th« Day of the Funeral... * ^"''""""■ 
 
 XXXV. The Olrgo of Nicholas f""" 
 
 XXXVI. The FoundlnR of the BcH.. f ^^ ^"""'■ 
 
 X.X.WII. ThoLttunchlnKofthoShIp C i/aciny. 
 
 X.XXVMI. King Arthur and Queen Gnln:;;.;:; tZ 
 
 XX.VIX. The Burial of Jacob Tennyson. 
 
 XU Shipwreck In Dublin iw t ^^ """'"^ 
 
 XU. The Ballad of Rou Drunwwnd. 
 
 174 
 I7« 
 183 
 184 
 181 
 180 
 1!>:| 
 li>5 
 
 l:t7 
 
 11)9 
 
 30(5 
 
 209 
 
 SirS.D. I.ytton. ai| 
 
 SECTION II.-DOMESTIC AND NATIONAL. 
 
 I. Locb-na-Oarr 
 
 It. America to Grcat'BrUain ^^''"^ "» 
 
 »I. Great Britain to America'.'." t!"""^ "« 
 
 IV. Death of the First-born.. '^'^*^- ="8 
 
 ^- ^- Waltt. 221 
 
 SECTION III.- SACHED AND MORAL. 
 
 I. The Existence of a God 
 
 11. Ode of Thanksgiving '""''• 
 
 nr. Thanatopsls; or. a VIcwo; i.c:Uh ^'"7' 
 
 IV. Forest Ilvmn... ^'"""'^ 
 
 V. Air, for the Best... '''■""'"• 
 
 VI. Mail Tupper. 
 
 VII. ThePulpi't ^"'"'s'- 
 
 Vl.I. Adam and Eve'in'pa'r'ad;;;;::: ^T'"" 
 
 iX. Sutan-s Address to the Sun IT' 
 
 X. Speech of Belial in Council JJ*^^"^ 
 
 SECTION IV.- MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 I The Ocean 
 
 II. Tlie Passion, "* ''^''"^- 
 
 CoUinu 
 
 2'J4 
 
 22.i 
 
 227 
 
 229 
 
 2;)2 
 
 233 
 
 333 
 
 237 
 
 2.19 
 
 2il 
 
 •iM 
 244 
 
viii 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 nr. The Voice and Pen.... 
 
 IV. mgy In H Country Church- Vard H'^'"'"''' 
 
 V. Napoleon'a Laat I{«,„o«t . ""■ 
 
 VI. Hymn In the Vale of Chamounl'.".'.'. IT' 
 
 V/I. TheCometoflSII Colervlf/t. 
 
 Vin. Tlinme for a Poaf,.... ^'°<'<' 
 
 IX. The Song of Steam. ."ZZ'"'.*.' '""*''■ 
 
 X. JuKurtlm'. nison Thoilihti"" t""'^ 
 
 XI The Greek Mythology... ^"^'^ 
 
 XH. The City Pigeon fTordMcorih. 
 
 XUl. The 01.1 dock on the Stair^ ^""*- 
 
 XIV. The Songof tho Co«ack io ui:ZZ:::Z~;;^^^- 
 
 SECTION V.-THE DRAMA. 
 
 '• Brutus and Caiialas 
 
 II. Mercy Shalnptrt. 
 
 m. Hamlet on Death. Shalupfrt. 
 
 IV. shyiock, Ba.aanio. and a";';;";;;::;:: Tr'- 
 
 V. Shyiock Justifying hi, Rercnge ff*'^'"'- 
 
 VI. Antony and Ventldiua Shahpe,^. 
 
 Vn. Cato'. Senate *'■»"''«• 
 
 VUI. Cato on the Soul.".' AddUon. 
 
 IX. Expulsion Of c«tiii„e"^::;";;;;s;;;;;::;::;;;; ^""- 
 
 X. Clarence'B Dream "' 
 
 XI casaiu, rouaing BrrZ:^;^::;:^:;^!: 22r 
 
 XII. Scene ftom William Tell Shaktptre. 
 
 Xni. Tell to hi. Native Mountain!'. l"'^^' 
 
 XIV. Henry VIII. and Ar.ne Boleyn.. "T'' 
 
 "•S. iMruior. 
 
 2.M 
 
 3JSA 
 
 2A7 
 
 3.'il) 
 
 300 
 
 3r>3 
 
 3<;4 
 
 w, 
 
 •207 
 
 •2U 
 •JIH 
 
 •Jir, 
 •in 
 
 28t 
 3S2 
 387 
 290 
 2»1 
 
 •iH 
 
 2(1.5 
 
 207 
 
 802 
 
 30J 
 
 II I 
 
 SECTION VI.-COMIC. 
 
 I. Sam Weller-. Evidence In the Trial, Bardcll r. Pick 
 
 i|. Mr Greg;'bun;':;a' N'l'di'o'ia'^Nkk';;';;::::;:^^ ^2 
 
 m. Colonel Diver and Martin Chuzzlowlt l^Z 
 
 rv. The Most Horrible Battle *^- 
 
 V. There's Nothing in u ^- ^'^"^' 
 
 VI. The Art of Book-keeping ^^'^''^^■ 
 
 VII. Goody Grimr. Lapstone .' f*^ 
 
 VIII. Sir Peterand Lady Tearle. . t?*""' 
 
 Stteridan. 
 
 SOS 
 
 «10 
 
 314 
 
 317 
 
 320 
 
 822 
 
 324 
 
 829 
 
 
An 
 
 Mi 
 
 m 
 
 960 
 
 Ur,r, 
 UGT 
 
 200 
 
 1'73 
 
 •nr, 
 
 277 
 281 
 3M3 
 387 
 290 
 •Ml 
 
 •i'Ji 
 
 2»S 
 
 207 
 
 SOU 
 
 301 
 
 THE ADVANCED KEADER. 
 
 SECTION I.-IIISTORICAL AND DESCRIPTIVE. 
 
 I.-DEATH OP WILLIAM THE THIRD.* 
 
 (lord macaulay.) 
 WHtlum of Nmtoii, Prince nf fii-.n™. 
 
 Mwy, daiiKhtor of the nuke of Y k 1 . ; "^ '^"''''""'- "« m-n-led 
 
 •lo„ Of 1688 he was placed on JheCZr^T'' '"'?" "■ "^ "^« ""vl" 
 wife. He riled In 1703. *'"«"»'' """""e, fi, comj unction with hi,, 
 
 Thomas nablnRton Macaiilay— I^m w.o , 
 Lolce«te,Hl.lro. In IHOO. Z. jE.Uv w." 7."^ f ""'■" "' "°""«y temple. 
 « b,iUla^t career In Hferatuve a JJ^'.Z K" I " "f.""'^'' '" ''"^^' '''^- 
 W.'i9. HI. father. Mr. Zaclmry Macaulav th« li I ?" '"" ^^"' »e"n.ber. 
 a .ea.„« par, ale. .Uh W^herS^re;!" rSS^^ 
 
 ">cdical adviser's, SlTEn'^lTan J nXr '''''^'''' ^'« 
 of their resources He hn^ ^1 u ?"' '^*''<' ^* ^^^e end 
 eminent physicilns o^ ope a"d a '^ ^'"" ''' *''« "^^^ 
 that tliey raight return flnffl' ' ' ^'' '^*'' apprehensive 
 
 had described h^ nsel as a I "m'"^ """'''• ^" ^^S^'^ '>« 
 somewhat blunfr that surh^ " ' f'''*- ^"S*^» ^^P^^^d. 
 one meaning, and ihat the onIvT^?-x°"^'^ '^'"^ ^^^^^ 
 
 ^^-1W. ,ortio„ Of .he „l3tor,.a3 no. revised hy Lord MacauU, ho Jc hi« 
 
10 
 
 DKATII OF WILLIAM THE THIRD. 
 
 Without disguise, nnd obtained some prescriptions which 
 were thought to liavo a littio rela,ded the approach of the 
 inovitublo hour. But the great king's days were numbered. 
 Headaclies and sh.vern.y fits returned on him almost daily. 
 He still rode and even hunted; but he had no longer that 
 firm seat or that perfect commund of the bridle for which 
 no liad once been renowned. . . 
 
 On the twentieth of Fobruai'y" William was ambling on a 
 favourite horse, named Sorrel, through the park of Han„.t<>u 
 Court. He urged his horse to strike into a gallop just at 
 the spot where a m.le had been at work. Sorrel stumbk.i 
 
 Itrlu ^ . "'i^ ^'- ' ''^^'' ^""«- '^^^ bone was set, and 
 he returned to Kensington in his coach. The joltin- of the 
 rough roads of that time made it necessary to reduce the 
 fracturo again To a young and vigorous man such an 
 accident would have been a trifl,,. But the frame of William 
 was not in a condition to bear even the slightest shock. He 
 lelt that his time was short, and giieved, with a grief sucJi 
 as only noble spirits feci, to think that he must leave his 
 vork but half finished. It was possible that he might 
 
 Sn ""'' ^"' ^ '''"' "''""^"^ ^"^ ""^''"'^ ^"^^^ *^^'^''- 
 
 The king meanwhile was sinking fast. Albemarle had 
 f Tv!?i ^^°.«"'«t"» fr^^n the Hague, exhausted by rapid 
 ravelhng His master kindly bade him go to rest for some 
 Hours, and then summoned him to make his report That 
 report was in all respects satisfactory. The States Genei-al 
 were m the best tcini.or ; the troops, the provisions, and the 
 magazines were in the best order. Everything was in readi- 
 ness for an early campaign. William received the intelli- 
 gence with the calmness of a man whose work was done 
 lie was under no delusion as to his danger. "I am fast 
 drawing," he said, "to my end." His end was worthy of 
 nis lite. His mtelloct was not for a moment clouded. His 
 ortitudo was the more admirable because he was not wilHu-r 
 to die He had very lately said to one of those whom he 
 most loved,; You know that I never feared death; there 
 have been times when I should have wished it; but, now 
 that this great now prospect is opening before me, I do 
 
DEATH OF WILLIAM THE THIKD. ]] 
 
 wish to stay here a little lontrpv" v,.f „ i 
 
 l^at skill and learning could do for me; b ft tl.o casot 
 beyond your art; and I submit." From the vonk wi • 
 
 :^f Sili:^' '' '' ^equentlTe^S^Si:^ 
 
 ray... Bumot andlemson remained many hours in tliesirk- 
 
 ro-n, He professed to Ihem his iirm belief in ?" Vn, h „ 'tit 
 
 cfde/S S^t' SZr an^ti-ttS 7: 
 ordered several of them tn hp n. i • """r ''"^"^^- -tie 
 BPlf tr. foT^n 1 ^ ^7 ^ '^^^ ^ ^°' <^"<' exerted him- 
 
 who had never on anv fipld nf K.,+fi. utirayea mm, 
 
 taintPrl wif I, 1 n ^*^^'^' °^ ^° an atmosphere 
 
 With boLtei: mS ifi" l:' nVsT.'LiStfi r"""" 
 
 his d«, „/ir pr^^ate 'S ri " "C Ltt^^Ve 
 
 ii/et^r-.^t"::"-; "^"'/^ f ^"-^ 
 
 "Ia.tlongf Hewas told l„t fr"" ,'° ""= P''J'"'=''"'»' 
 
 could te ll-A Tie k„. JcokT?" TfKY -""""S 
 friend, and pressed'ltTeLX t ^rtjlJ"' ^'^l 
 iiiument, ho doubt all iha¥ i,„j ^ - --..t. in tiiat 
 
 over their ion. an'd tl^Si.rwlXZ: YS 
 
12 
 
 CAPTURE AND KXECUTIOW OF MONMOUTH. 
 
 now between seven and eight in the morning. He closod 
 h.8 eyes and gasped for breath. The bishopf knelt down 
 w^ :;f J,'::;---^''^tory prayer. When it'endcd wS 
 
 wornLJInT'"? ""''' ^^l^ ""*' '^ ^«« f"""d that he 
 wore next to his skin a small piece of black silk riband 
 
 The lords m waiting ordered it to be taken off. It confined 
 a gold ring and a lock of the hair of Mary ^o^^^^Qea 
 
 I 
 
 ir.-CAPTUSE AND EXECUTION OP MONMOUTH. 
 
 (liORD MAOAULAY.) 
 
 aseumed tha title of kiniT R„f h. / ' """""""h ''oseln rebellion, and 
 
 .noor, an. l.e .LlJt^Z tri::^^ aXS!? Ssf ^^'"^ °'«^^- 
 
 Buvrwl«'f^'r*xf"™^°^*^^ ''^''^' recommenced, and 
 bTp nnl T^'i ^l "^^^^ "^^* h« h^d parted froi the 
 Duke only a few hours before. The com und copsewood we e 
 now beaten with more care than ever. At len^^th a Junt 
 
 on their prey. Some of them were about to fire; but Port- 
 
 Bh p£ hi^f "t°"- ^'^ P™°°^^'^ ^-- -- «-t : a 
 growtT H tZ^^ P/^^aturely grey, was of several days' 
 vZ,l ^\*^e"ibled greatly, and was unable to sneak 
 
 whether this were truly the brilliant and graceful Monmouth 
 His pockets were searched by Portman, and in them were 
 found, among some raw pease gathered in the rage of hunge 
 Zm fillXT, "''''^' ' ^"^" '''''''' «° fortmcation,':n 
 
 £ fl'lZ'^^ which, many years before, King Charles the 
 fZTli ^Ti'f ^'' ^^"°""*^ ^°°- Messenger were 
 
 vfth t« r'^'*'^'^ *' ^^'"*^'^^" ^^^h -^« g°«d news, and 
 with the George as a token that the news was true The 
 
 prisoner was conveyed under a strong guard to Ringwood. 
 
 And all was lost ; and nothing remained but that he should 
 
 prepare to meet death as became one who had thaJl. 
 
 hiaiKcIf not unworthy to wear the crown of William the 
 
 t 
 
CAPTURE AND EXECUTION OP MONMOUTH. 13 
 
 Conqueror and of Richard the Lion-hearted, of the hero of 
 Cre^y and of the hero of Agincourt. The captive mi<dit 
 easily have called to mind other domestic examples, still 
 better suited to his condition. Within a hundred years 
 two sovereigns whose blood ran in his veins, one of them a 
 dehcate woman, had been placed in the same situation iu 
 which he now stood. They had shown, in the prison an.l 
 on the scaffold, virtue of which, in the season of prosperity 
 they had seemed incapable, and had half redeemed great 
 crimes and errors by enduring with Christian meekness and 
 princely dignity all that victorious enemies could inflict 
 Of cowardice Monmouth had never been accused; and, even 
 had he been wanting in constitutional courage, it micdit 
 have been expected that the defect would be supplied °bvr 
 pride and by despair. The eyes of the whole world were 
 upon iiim. The latest generations would know how in that 
 extremity, he had borne himself. To the brave peasants of 
 
 L fi r V^.'i'^ *^ '^"^^ *^^* *^«y ^^^^ ^^^ poured 
 forth their blood for a leader unworthy of their attach- 
 
 ment. To her who had sacrificed everything for his sake 
 he owed It so to bear himself that, though she might wee,, 
 for him, she should not blush for him. It was not for 
 him to lanjent and supplicate. His reason, too, should 
 have told him that lamentation and supplication would 
 be unavaihng. He had done that which could never be 
 forgiven 
 
 The hour drew near; all hope was over; and Monmouth 
 had passed from pusillanimous fear to the apathy of despair 
 His children were brought to his room, that he might take 
 
 ffr? n f 1 ^^l'"''" ^"""^^^ ^y ^'' ^^if«- He spoke to 
 her kindly, but without emotion. Though she was a woman 
 
 of great strength of mind, and had little cause to love him 
 her misery was such that none of the bystanders could re- 
 frain from weeping. He alone was unmoved. 
 
 It was ten o'clock. The coach of the Lieutenant of the 
 Tower was ready. Monmouth requested his spiritual ad- 
 visers to accompany him to the place of execution, and they 
 
 «v,nnf r "V- •'■ -^ , """ ''^^^^' ^" t'^^'^ii- judgment, he was 
 about to die in a perilous state of mind, and that, if they at- 
 tended him, It would be their duty to exhort him to the last 
 
14 
 
 CAPTURE AND EXECUTION OF MONMOUTH. 
 
 As lie passed along the ranks of tho guards ],e s.lnfn i 
 
 listened for the \Jt acLn ts of the *J ^1 p "l''''^^"^' 
 " I sliall say little," lu be^an " T . /"^ °^ *^' P'°P^^- 
 but to die " ^ ^ '""'^ '^'''' not to speak, 
 
 placed i„ a coffin cotei with bS St"" H w' T', 
 JJeath IS there a-opi'if-Pf^ nnf o„ • iir """.""^ ^*^'"eier>. 
 
 ands.P rs,.wHrssra:re;x;rvt''e's'' 
 
 endearing in social and doie c ctoS I J tl^Tf 
 
 mh the .avage triumph of implacable enemlT-w;^ 
 i hTT"'': "" i"="'-^'"'">e. the cowardice oTSndT* 
 
 and the ornaments of courtr Tint .r , ""^ '?'*'''' 
 
 the window where AZcL J ^'""^ ^"'""' ^'^^^re 
 
 corpse of GdWord D dt' EdS'"t*'' "'^S'^ 
 of Somerset and Protector of ft ^^"""''' ^"^" 
 
 by the brother whom h tl. te " S^' InsT if""! 
 
 1 ).,!.- - -- t ^ , -^nere are laid Jolin DiuH^v 
 
 ^<^ii^c 01 i\ortluimI)crIand Lord Hml, ai --"-"vi 
 
 Thomas Cromwell, Earl o F^'ex LoS TT ."' t ' ' ""'^ 
 . <H .1., Hex, Lioid High Treasurer. 
 
GEORGE TnE THIRn. 15 
 
 Thore too i^ anotlicr E.ssex, on whom nature and fortune ha.l 
 lavisiied al] their bounties in vain, and whom valour mnre 
 gemus, royal favot., popular applause, eonduotod to a^ S 
 and Ignominious doom. Not far off sleep tw,r chiefs of tie 
 great house of Howard.-Thomas. fo,,rth Duke of Norfolk 
 and Phi ip, eleventh Earl of Arundel. Here and he e Ion ,' 
 the thick gi-aves of unquiet and aspiring statesmerfi; Zf 
 
 ame of 1 lantagenet, and those two fair queens who perished 
 
 the dust of Monmouth mingled. 
 
 Yet a few months, and tlie quiet village of Toddin^rton in 
 Bedfordshire witnessed a still sadder funeral. Not tint 
 
 beentm; . W'''"''.':* "^ *^' P''^"^^ church had Ion. 
 been the r burial-place. To that burial-place, in the sprin" 
 ^vhIch followed the death of Monmouth, las born the 2 
 of the young Baroness Wentworth of Nettlestede. He 
 iamily reared a sumptuous mausoleum over her remains • b, 
 
 SetriSeT t^ ''''' "" lon^contemplatedwUht' 
 aeeper j.torest. Her name, caiTCd by the hand of him 
 
 iiJie on a tree m the adjoining park. 
 
 ni.-GEOEGE THE THIRD. 
 
 (W. M. THACKERAT.) 
 
 William Makepeace Thackeray was born In Ciili-nffn (man 1 
 
 >.eld a civil appointment under tVL«IndUr '*'■''■'''''' '^*'''''' 
 •' Vanity Fair " ''PendPnnU • u m! ., Company. His novels, 
 
 .ollowing la taken from " LecLre, on the Fm.r Georges •'" '""""• '''' 
 
 To'n'rr.t "!'"'' over sixty years in as many minutes. 
 lo read the mere catalogue of characters who figure,] 
 during^that long period w.uld occupy our allotted E 
 J., u .ve «ho«Kl lave ail text and no sermon. Englan.l 
 
 "nit to d'f/'" r''' '^ '^'' ^'"^^•-» colonies^ tu 
 submit to defeat and separation; to shake under the vol- 
 
le 
 
 GEORGE TUE TDIRD, 
 
 cano Of the French Revolution ; to grapple and fight for 
 the hfe with her gigantic enemy Napoleon; to gasp and 
 rally after that tremendous struggle. The old society, witli 
 1 8 courtly splendours, has to pass away; generations of 
 statesmen to rise and disappear; Pitt to follow Chatham to 
 the tomb ; the memory of Rodney and Wolfe to be super- 
 seded by Nelson's and Wellington's glory ; the old poets who 
 unite us to Queen Anne's time to sink into their graves- 
 Johnson to die, and Scott and Byron to arise; Garrick to 
 delight the world with his dazzling dramatic genius, and 
 iiean to leap on the stage and take possession of the aston- 
 ished theatre. Steam has to be invented; kings to bo 
 beheaded, banished, deposed, restored; Napoleon to be but 
 an episode, and George III. is to be alive through all these 
 varied changes, to accompany his people through all these 
 revolu^ IS of thought, government, society-to survive out 
 
 ot the old world into ours 
 
 His mother's bigotry and hatred George inherited with 
 the courageous obstinacy of his own race ; but he was a firm 
 believer where his fathers had been free-thinkers, and a true 
 and fond supporter of the Church, of which he was the 
 titular defender. Like other dull men, the king was all his 
 lite suspicious of superior people. He did not like Fox • he 
 did not like Reynolds; he did not hke Nelson, Chatham. 
 Jiurke : he was testy at the idea of all innovations, and suspi- 
 cious of all innovators... He loved mediocrities; Benjamiu 
 West was his favourite painter ; Seattle was his poet The 
 king lamented, not without pathos, in his after life, that his 
 education had been neglected. He was a dull lad, broue^ht 
 up by narrow-minded people. The cleverest tutors in the 
 wor d could have done little, probably, to expand that small 
 inteUect, though they might have improved his tastes and 
 
 taught his perceptions some generosity, 
 
 George married the Princess Charlotte of' Mecklenburg 
 Strelitz, and for years they led the happiest, simplest lives 
 sure, ever led by married couple. It is said the king winced' 
 when he first saw his homely little bride ; but, however that 
 may be, he was a true and faithful husband to her as she 
 was a faithful and loving wife. They had the simplest 
 pleasures— the very mildest and simplest-little country 
 
GEORGE THE THIRD, jy 
 
 dances, to which a dozen couple were invited, and where 
 the honest king would stand up and dance for three hours 
 at a time to one tune; after which delicious excitement they 
 would go to bed without any supper (the Court people 
 grumbhng sadly at that absence of supper), and get Z 
 quite early the next morning, and perhaps the next nigh? 
 have another dance ; or the queen would play on the srrin- 
 net-she played pretty well. Haydn sail J or tl kin. 
 would read to her a paper out of the Spectator, or perhaps 
 
 haUeenf . . T"' "" ^^^'" ' "^^^ ^ '''' ^"-"'' 
 The theatre was always his delight. His bishons and 
 
 where tS *° f '"' '*' *'^°'^°« ^'^ «^-« *'" 
 7!Z} J''^ ^«" ^^« «ee°- He is said not to have 
 cared for Shakspeare or tragedy much; farces and panto- 
 
 7Z7:7J'V'''r' -P^-^"y-^-n clown swaCed 
 ousWtl ttb.' ""1 "^^^"^^Ses, he would laugh so outrage- 
 ously that the lovely prmcess by his side would have to say 
 My gracious monarch, do compose yourself." But he con' 
 mued to laugh, and at the very smallest farces, a long 
 as his poor wits were left him. ^ 
 
 "George, be a king!" were the words which his mother 
 was for ever croaking ifl the ears of her son ; and a kbg S e 
 sinaple stubborn, aflfectionate, bigoted man Iried to be 
 
 . ^^ 'Ij Y^s best-he worked according to his lights : what 
 virtue he knew,he tried to practise; what knowledge h c^uW 
 
 master, he strove to acquire But, as on? thLks of 
 
 an oftce almost divine, performed by any mortal man-of 
 any wngle being -pretending to control the thouijhts to 
 direct the faith, to order the implicit obedience of brother 
 millions; to compel them into war at his offence or quarrel- 
 
 shaU thmk; these neighbours shaU be your allies, whom 
 > ou ShaU help -these others your enemies, whom you shaU 
 slay at my orders; in this way you shall worship God •"- 
 who can wonder that, when such a man as George took such 
 an office on himself, punishment and humiliation should faU 
 
 "f — r — -x'«-, f(uu vilici t 
 
 Yet there is something grand about his courage. The 
 battle of the king with his aristocracy remains yet to be 
 
18 
 
 OEORCTE TilE THIRD. 
 
 il 
 
 
 told by the historian who shall view the reign of Georyo 
 more justly than the trumpery panegyrists who wrote 
 immediately after his decease. It was he, with the people 
 to back huu, that made the war with America; it was he 
 and the people who refused justice to the Roman Catholics- 
 and ou both questions he beat the patricians. He bribed 
 he bullied, he darkly dissembled on occasion; he exercised 
 a sbppery perseverance, and a vindictive resolution, which 
 one almost admires as one thinks his character over His 
 courage was never to be beat. It trampled North under 
 toot; It beat the stiff neck of the younger Pitt; even his 
 Illness never conquered that indomitable spirit. As soon 
 aa his brain was clear, it resumed the scheme, only laid 
 aside when his reason left him : as soon as his hands were 
 out of the strait waistcoat, they took up the peu and the 
 plan which had engaged him up to the moment of his 
 malady. I believe, it is by persons believing themselves 
 in the right, that nine-tenths of the tyranny of this world 
 has been perpetrated. Arguing on that convenient pre- 
 miss, the Dey of Algiers would cut off twenty heads of a 
 morning ; Father Dominic would burn a score of Jews in 
 the presence of the Most Catholic King, and the Archbishops 
 ot loledo and Salamanca sing Amen. Protestants were 
 roasted, Jesuits hung and quartered at Smithfield, and 
 witches burned at Salem; and all by worthy people, who 
 believed they had the best authority for their actions. 
 And so with respect to old George, even Americans,- whom 
 he hated and who conquered him, may give him credit for 
 having quite honest reasons for oppressing them. ..... 
 
 Of little comfort were the king's sons to the king." 
 But the pretty Amelia was his darling ; and the little 
 maiden, prattling and smiling in the fond ai'ms of that old 
 
 father, is a sweet image to look on 
 
 The princess wrote verses herself, and there are some 
 pretty plaintive lines attributed to her, which are more 
 touching than better poetry :— 
 
 " Unthinking, Idle, wild, and young, 
 I lauglied, and danced, and talked, and sungj 
 And, proud of licalth, of freedom vain, 
 Dreamed not of soirow, care, or paiaj 
 
1 of George 
 who wrote 
 the pcoj)le 
 it was he 
 Catliolics ; 
 He bribed, 
 e exercised 
 ;ioii, which 
 over. His 
 orth under 
 ; eveu his 
 . As soon 
 , only laid 
 lands were 
 u and the 
 ent of his 
 themselves 
 tliis world 
 nient pre- 
 lieads of a 
 )f Jews in 
 •chbishops 
 ants were 
 field, and 
 ople, who 
 r actions. 
 .ns,.whom 
 credit for 
 
 > • • • ■ 
 
 S- 
 
 the little 
 
 ' that old 
 
 are some 
 are more 
 
 GEORGE THE THIRD. 19 
 
 ConcMltifr, In those hours of glue, 
 Ihat all the world was made for me. 
 
 •' But when the hour of trial came 
 When sickness shook tlils tiembl'ing fl-arae 
 When folly's gay pursuits were o'er, 
 And I could sing and dance no more,— 
 It then occurred, how sad 'twould be 
 W ere this world only made for me." 
 
 The poor soul quitted it-and ere yet she was dead th« 
 
 aToril"^"'" T? ", "^' ^ '''''' ''^' the o^erstv^d 
 
 Srove'i Zo r'"^ ttT * ''""'f''' '''' ^^•-' «-d from 
 mvember 1810 George III. ceased to reign. All the world 
 
 knows the story of his malady; all hfstory pr e„rno 
 
 Ei"hlT"^r' ^'rr' fonlremintncetfre 
 ■c^ngi sh home. The poor old father is represented in 1 
 purple gown, his snowy beard falling over hTtcast-th^ 
 -tarof Ins famousOrderstm idly shinfug on it He was not 
 only sightless-he became utterly deaf A IbVhf In 
 
 r;/o/G:d '' '""^T -ioes,^^ll pieaS;ff [^^^^ 
 
 seelum, entered the room, and found him' srginrXmn 
 and accompanying himself at the harpsichord When he 
 had finished he knelt down and prayed aloud for her and 
 
 What preacher need moral™ on this storr- what worrf, 
 
 ir™ZL„?Lt t "/r'-A"'*-^ ?■'« »« "own 
 
 L ci ■ "'" ■KUlcr VI kings and men tliP Mnr. 
 
 D^nronneZr """ """'"»• ^^^'-^^^^^^ 
 
 i^ispenser ot life, death, happiness, victory. " brothers," 
 
20 
 
 SACK OF TOE BASTILLE. 
 
 ! ! 
 
 I said to those wlio heard me first in America—" brothers I 
 speaking the same dear mother tongue — comrades ! 
 enemies no more, let us take a mournful hand together 
 as we stand by this royal corpse, and call a truce to 
 battle ! Low he lies to whom the proudest used to kneel 
 once, and who was cast lower than the poorest; dead, 
 whom millions prayed for in vain. Driven off hio throne' 
 buffeted by rude hands; witli his cliUdren in revolt; the 
 darhng of his old age killed before him untimely; our Lear 
 hangs over her breathless lips and cries, ' Cordelia, CordeHa 
 stay a little 1' ' 
 
 * Ve« not his ghost -oh I let him pass— he hnteg him 
 That would upon tlie rack of this tough world 
 stretch him oat longer 1' 
 
 Hush! Strife and Quarrel, over the solemn grave! Sound 
 Trumpets, a mournful march. Fall, Dark Curtain, upon 
 his pageant, his pride, his grief, his awful tragedy!" 
 
 IV.— SACK OF THE BASTIILE. 
 
 (THOMAS CARLTLB.) 
 
 ninmas Carlyle was born In Dumfries-shlre, In 1795. He was educated at the 
 UniverHlty of EdinburRh, and began life as teacher of mathematics In a school 
 m Kirkcaldy ; but soon abandoned the ferule for the pen 
 
 The Bastille of Paris was built by Charles V. of France, (begun 13C9, completed 
 1383,) as a stronghold to defend the city from the English. It was afterwards 
 converted, like the Tower of London, into a prison. The capture of it by the 
 mob on the 14th July, 1789, was the commencement of the great French Re- 
 TOlution, which deluged France, and ultimately Europe, with blood. 
 
 Old De Launay, as we hinted, withdrew "into his interior" 
 soon after midnight of Sunday. He remains there ever since, 
 hampered, as all military gentlemen now are, in the saddest 
 conflict of uncertainties. The H6tel-de-Ville " invites " him 
 to admit national soldiers; which is a soft name for surrender- 
 ing. On the other hand, his majesty's orders were precise. 
 His garrison is but eighty-two old Invalides, reinforced by 
 thirty-two young Swiss. His walls, indeed,are nine feet thick, 
 he has cannon and powder; but, alas ! only one day's provision 
 .^ „..,....ttxc. iuc ciijr luu m jrcncn, the poor garrison mostly 
 French. Rigorous old De Launay, think what thou wilt do 1 
 
 .,_iii 
 
 '! 4 
 
Sound, 
 
 SACK OF THE BASTILLE. fl 
 
 All momJng, since nine, there Ima been a cry everywhere,-^ 
 To the BuatiUe 1 Repeated " deputations of citizens " have 
 been here, passionate for arms; whom Be Launay has got 
 dismissed by soft speeches through port-holes. Toward, noon 
 Elector Tliunot de la RosicNre gains admittance; finds d" 
 
 Woe to thee, De Launay, in such an hour, if thou canst 
 not, takmg some one firm decision, rule circumstances ! Soft 
 «peeches will not serve; hard grapeshot is questionab e ; bu 
 hovering between the two is «;*questiouable. Ever wilder 
 vvells the tide of men; their infinite hum waxing ever bud 
 wtcLZr'''"'' T'^'-P' '"^^ ''''^^' of stray musketr^^ 
 The outer drawbndge has been lowered for Thuriot; new 
 deptuauon of cxtmm (it is the third, and noisiest of all' 
 penetrates that way into the outer court: soft speeches pro! 
 ducing no clearance of these, De Launay gives fire ; pulls up 
 
 too combustible chaos-made it a roaring fire-chaos ! Bursts 
 forth insurrection, at sight of its own blood (for there were 
 deaths by tha sputter of fire), into endless rolling explosion 
 
 the fortress, let one great gun, with its grapeshot, go boom- 
 ing^ to show what y^e could do. The Bastille is betieged ! 
 
 On, then, aU Frenchmen that have hearts in your bodies » 
 Roar with al your threats, of cartilage and metal, je S ns 
 of Liberty; sir spasmodically whatsoever of utmost faculty 
 3 m you, soul, body, or spirit; for it is the hour ! Smito 
 thou Louis Tournay, cartwright of the Marais, old soldier of 
 the Regiment Dauphin^; smite at that outer drawbridge 
 Cham, though the fiery haU whistles round thee I Kevei 
 over nave or felloe, did thy axe strike such a stroke. Down 
 with It, man ! down withit to Orcus! letthe whole accursed 
 edifice sink thither, and tyranny be swallowed up for ever ! 
 Mounted, some say on the roof of the guard-room, some 
 on bayonets stuck into joints of the wall," Louis Tournay 
 c_, ..... ,^ xjuiiiiuiiiLTu ;.aiso au old soldier) secoiid- 
 
 1^^' ..^ ^^° -^^'^^ '^^■'"^'' ^^^ h"g« drawbridge 
 Blams down, thundering {avec fracai). Glorious! and yet. 
 
22 
 
 SACK OE THE BASTILLE. 
 
 ^las, it h Still but tho outworkal Die ei«}it grim towers, 
 wi<tk their Invalide muaketry, their paving-stonefl and caunou 
 mouths, still soar aloft intact ;— ditch yawning iinpaHflable, 
 stone-faced ; tho inner drawbridge with its iac/fc towarda us; 
 
 tho Bastille is still to take ! 
 
 Frantic Patriots pick up the grapeshots ; boar them, still 
 hot (or seemingly bo), to the Il6tol-de-Ville ;— Paris, you 
 perceive, is to he burnt I Flcsselles is " pale to the v<My 
 lips," for the roar of the multitude grows deep. Paris wholly 
 has got to the acme of its frenzy ; whirled all ways, by panic 
 madness. At every street barricade there whirls siiunicring 
 a minor whirlpool, strengthening tho barricade, since Odd 
 knows what is coming ; and all minor whirlpools play dis- 
 tractedly into that grand Firc-Mahlstrom which is lusliiu-' 
 
 round the Bastille " 
 
 Blood flows,— the aliment of new madness. The wounded 
 are carried into houses of the Rue Cerisaie ; the dying leave 
 their last mandate not to yield till the accursed stronghold 
 fall. And yet, alas, how fall ? The walls are so thick ! 
 Deputations, three in number, arrive from the H6tel-de-Ville ; 
 Abb6 Fauohet (who was of one) can say witii what almost 
 superhuman courage of benevolence. These wave their town 
 flag in the arched gateway; and stand, rolling their drum ; 
 but to no purpose. In such crack of doom, De Launay can- 
 not hear them, dare not believe them : they return with justi- 
 fied rage, the whew of lead still singing in their ears 
 
 How the great Busiilic clock ticks (inaudible) in its inner 
 court there, at its ease, hour after hour; as if nothing special, 
 for it or the world, were passing 1 It tolled one when the 
 firing began ; and is now pointing towards five, and bcjU tliu 
 firing slacks not. Far down, iu their vaults, th imr.n 
 prisoners hear muffled din as of earthquakes ; their tuiuko^u 
 
 answer vaguely. 
 
 What shall De Launay do ? One thing only De Launay 
 could have done— what he said he would do. Fancy him 
 Bi =iH'. from the first, with lighted taper, within arm's 
 s^li M' ; le poT^der magazine ; motionless, like old Roman 
 ».^nat.<v, .r hro-^^e kmp-holder ; coldly apprising Thuriot, and 
 all r(-e*j .y i,, slight mn-,.»n of liis eye, what his resolution 
 wa<5 ;-- hf./ Tiiess he sat inere, while unharmed ; but the king's 
 
 ( s. 
 
still 
 
 PEATII OF MARIE-ANTOINETTK. 03 
 
 f.)rtre8s, meanwhile, .;ouI(l, mi«ht, would, ... flhould, in no wise 
 be surrendered, save to the king's messenger ; one old man's 
 life IS worthless, 80 it be lost with honour; but think v« 
 brawling canaille, how will it be when a wh„lo IJustilio 
 «I.nng8 fllryward ! In such statuesque, tapcr-hohliug attitude, 
 one fancies De Launay might have loft Thuriot, the red clerks 
 of he Basocho, Cur6 of Saint-Stephen, and all the tag-rag-and- 
 bobtail of the world, to work their will. . 
 
 For four hours now has the world bedlam' roared-call it 
 tlie world chimoDra, blowing fire. The poor invalides have 
 
 mus^r H '^r ^^"'r«"^«' ^^ nse only with reversed 
 muskets-they have made a white flag of napkins-go beat- 
 ing the chamade, or seeming to beat, for one can hear nothing. 
 TJie very Swiss at the portcullis look weP-y of firing • dis- 
 heartened in the fire deluge : a port-hole at the drawbridge is 
 opened as by one tlmt would speak. See Huissier Mailkrd. 
 that tlnJ^""?? I ^^ ^f ^^'°^' ^^•'"^"^e ^'^^ tl^« «bys3 o 
 weight of Patrio s,-he hovers perilous-such a dove towards 
 h an arkl Deftly, thou shifty usher : one man already 
 
 Usher MHi "T^t ^'' ^7" '^'''' "gainst the masonry"^ 
 Usher MaiUard falls not-deftly, unerring he walks with 
 
 Z?-lt S' ^t' '"'" ""'''' ^ Paper'through S p" rt- 
 
 ^^Lf f "'^'' '""*'^^'« ^*' ^°d ^'^t"^"^- Terms of 
 
 -^FoiVnT"'"' ?J"""''^ *" '^^ ' ^'-^ tl>ey accepted ? 
 
 rnv H, ifn -^ i°i? *^' S'^ ^^ "° °®^=«^'" '-^"B^vers half- 
 pay Hulm,-or half-pay Elie, for men do not agree on it - 
 
 theyare!" Sinks the drawbridge.-UsherJvLXid bo ti^^ 
 
 yS? %''':~''fT ? '^'' ^^'""S deluge-the Bastil if 
 luUenl Victoire I La Bastille est prise! 
 
 v.— DEATH OF MARIE-ANTOINETTB. 
 
 (CARLYLE.) 
 
 on the 21st January preceding """''""'• ^O"'" ^^^-^ ''ad ''een guillotUiea 
 
 in the Palais de Justice, in the new Revolutionary urt. 
 
it 
 
 ! 1 
 
 24 
 
 DEATH OF MARIE-ANTOINETTE. 
 
 such as these old stone walls never witnessed,-the trial of 
 Marie-Antoinotte. The once brightest of queens, now tar- 
 nished, defaced, forsaken, stands here at Fouquier-Tinville'a 
 judgment-bar, answering for her life. Tlie indictment was 
 delivered her last night. To such changes of human fortune 
 what words are adequate 1 Silence alone is adequate 
 
 Mane-Antoinette, in this her utter abandonment and hour 
 of extreme need, is not wanting to herself, the imperial 
 woman. Her look, they say, as that hideous indictment 
 was reading, continued calm; "she was sometim-s observed 
 moving her fingers, as when one plays on the piano." 
 You discern, not without interest, across that dim revolu- 
 tionary bulletin itself, how she bears herself queen-like 
 Her answers are prompt, clear, often of laconic brevity ; re- 
 solution, which has grown contemptuous without ceasing to 
 be dignified, veils itself in calm words. " You persist then 
 in denial?"— "My plan is not denial: it is the truth I have 
 
 said, and I persist in that." 
 
 At four o'clock on Wednesday morning, after two days 
 and two nights of interrogating, jury-charging, and other 
 darkening of counsel, the result comes out,-sentence of 
 death ! " Have you anything to say V The accused shook 
 her head, without speech. Night's candles are burning 
 oat ; and witli lior too time is finishing, and it will be eter- 
 nity and day. This hull of TinviUe's is dark, ill-lighted except 
 where she stands. Silently she withdraws from it, to die. 
 Two processions, or royal progresses, three-and-tweuty 
 years apart, have often struck us with a strange feeling of 
 contrast. Tiie first ia of a beautiful archduchess "and 
 dauphineas, quitting her mother's city, at the age of fifteen, 
 towards hopes such as no other daughter of Eve then had : 
 "On the morrow," says Weber, an eye-witness, "the 
 dauphiness left Vienna. The whole city crowded out ; at 
 first with a sorrow which was silent. She appeared : you saw 
 her sunk back into her carriage ; iier face bathed in tears ; 
 hiding her eyes now with her handkerchief, now with her 
 hands ; several times putting out her head to see yet again 
 this palace of her fatliers, whither she was to return no more. 
 She motioiifid her regret, hnr f^ratifude to the good nation^ 
 which was crowding here to bid her farewell Then arose 
 
DEATH OP MARIE-ANTOINETTE. 
 
 25 
 
 time: thia k the teZci „ " ^jl" ' ^'T '"?™ >'"• 
 
 pay no heed. She spoke little to h'r Se or XV" 
 
 the inscriptions on?he Sse W?T°' *,"• "'"' ■'°"'='' 
 de la Revolution her iS/j ?"""'*'"« "^^ «"«» 
 
 J^Clonal. whiC TSe^%S« Ijlhafm"' •('"•*" 
 signs of Uvelv emntin,, ci. , "' ™™>™t gave 
 
 courage enonih T. f^" "'™°''"' *» ^ToM with 
 
 the eScuSr'sho«rut E' '"T'''" "'^« ^=" 
 long-continued cries 7^^ /^Jt^'l^* »-" ™'™-' 
 
 THE SAME SUBJECJT. 
 
 Is there a man's heart that thinks without nit. nf ..^se 
 
 ^irta. .o« ^diedrLtsrsxrr^^^^^^^^^^ 
 
26 
 
 i 
 
 I H 
 
 THE CAVE OP DAHRA, 
 
 heaven not to visit thy face too roughly, thy foot to light on 
 softness thy eye on splendour; and then of thy death, or 
 hundred deaths, to which the guillotine and Fouquier Tin- 
 ville s J udgment-bar were hut the merciful end ! Look there 
 Oman born of woman! The bloom of that fair face is 
 wasted, the hair is gre> with care; the brightness of those 
 eyes is quenched, their lids hang drooping ; the face is stony 
 pale as of one living in death. Mean weeds, which her own 
 handhas mended, attire the queen of the world. The death- 
 hurdle where thou sittest pale, motionless, which only 
 curses environ, has to stop ; a people, drunk with vengeance, 
 will drink It again in full draught, looking at thee there. 
 J^ar as the eye reaches, a multitudinous sea of maniac heads, 
 the air deaf with their triumph-yell. The living-dead must 
 Bhudder with yet one other pang; her startled blood yet 
 again suffuses with the hue of agony that pale face, which 
 she hides with her hands. There is there no heart to say, God 
 pity thee ! think not of these ; think of Him whom thou 
 worshippest. the Orucified-who also treading the wine-press 
 alone, fronted sorrow still deeper, and triumphed over it 
 and made it holy, and built of it a " sanctuary of sorrow." 
 for thee and aU the wretched. Thy path of thorns is nigh 
 ended; one long last look at the Tuileries, where thy step 
 was once so light-where thy children shall not dwell The 
 head IS on the block; the axe rushes-dumb lies the world- 
 that wild-yelling world, with all its madness, is behind thee. 
 
 VI.— THE CAVE OP DAHRA. 
 
 (DOUOLAS JKRROLD.) 
 
 wli f„ . con r.buted to Pur^h several of the best series of papers 
 
 which have appeared In tliat witty periodical 
 
 ^ thl" A .'.Trr '"/•*""''" i*'' *"'""'■" ^"""'^ " '"'PO's'We to subdue some of 
 the Aiab tribes by open fiRhtinff, as they retired to immense caverns (their 
 usual residence), Into which the regular soldiers could not follow them. Burnh b 
 fa«ot5 wore accordingly flung Into the caves, and the heat rendered inten sf 
 Tie A,«bs were sutfocafed by hundreds, and the conquest of the mountain 
 .be- was thus co.n,|letc.d. Marshal Pelissler, now Duke of MHlakoff, was 
 the officer by whom this barbarous deed was committed. The year was 1846. 
 
 TnKRB is a cave in the world with a dread Inrmnd • fm. 
 veUers, m future times, will toil up the hot ridges of the 
 
 I ill 
 
w~ 
 
 fro. 
 
 THE CAVE OF DAHRA. gy 
 
 Atlas Mountains to see the n-ivnm «f n„i 
 
 AiHcaa clan, ohB,mointZ*,°.,T'r?''' «""'', """o'^^ 
 
 mutual dostruction, «s goL on „ ? „ """ /' " 
 
 cavern: tiicv lieartl ,11 .1,1! " , ''" "'''*"«s of the 
 
 "Pon the blaze, tranZlVStif^.^^ "''■:' f ^^ 
 its Own rmn'nrf . or. i i ' ^ . ' ^-sin tm waasucnt but 
 
88 
 
 BATTLE OF BALACLAVA— CAVALRY CHARQB. 
 
 }i; 
 
 :i 
 
 I I 
 
 piled in mouldering, rotting masses in the cave, to tell that 
 a few hours before a tribe of men, women, and children had 
 entered its dreary portals. 
 
 And now, great nation, what think ye Europe says of youl 
 You plume yourselves on being the most mighty, the most 
 advanced people of the earth, the very focus of light, intelli- 
 gence, and humanity. The false glare of military glory 
 which continually bedazzles you, shows massacre and rapine 
 decked in the colours of good deeds. The itch of conquest 
 seems to make you confound good and evil. If fight you 
 will — fight like civilized soldiers, not like lurking savages. 
 Mow down your enemies — if you must have war — in the 
 fair field. Face them foot to foot, and hand to hand ; but, 
 for the sake of your fame — for the sake of the civilization 
 you have attained, stifle not defenceless wretches in caverns 
 — massacre not women and children by the horrible agency 
 of slow fire. 
 
 Vn.— BATTLE OF BALACLAVA— CAVALRY CHARGE. 
 
 (W. n. RUSSELL, LL.D.) 
 
 William Howard Rnssell, LL.D., Tht Times Correspondent, was born In Dublin 
 
 in 1S16, and was educated at Trinity College. 
 Tlie battle of Balaclava, one of the most spirited and exciting contests of the 
 
 Crinieaa war, was fought on 25th October 1854. 
 
 The cavalry who have been pursuing the Turks on the right 
 are coming up to the ridge beneath us, which conceals our 
 cavalry from view. The heavy brigade in advance is drawn 
 up in two lines. The first line consists of the Scots Greys, 
 and of their old companions in glory, the Enniskillens ; the 
 second of the 4th Royal Irish, of the 5th Dragoon Guards, 
 and of the 1st Royal Dragoons. The Light Cavalry Brigade 
 is on their left, in two lines also. The silence is oppressive ; 
 between the cannon bursts one can hear the champing of 
 bits and the clink of sabres in the valley below. The Rus- 
 sians on their left drew breath for a moment, and then in 
 one grand line dashed at the Highlanders. The ground flies 
 beneath their horses' feet ; gatliering speed at every stride, 
 they dash on towards that thin red streak topped with a f.ms 
 of steel. The Turks fire a volley at eiglit hundred yards, and 
 
tell that 
 ildren had 
 
 lysof youl 
 , the most 
 ht, intelli- 
 tary glory 
 md rapine 
 f conquest 
 fight you 
 g savages, 
 ir — in the 
 Land; but, 
 livilizatiou 
 in caverns 
 ble agency 
 
 /LBGE. 
 
 orn In Dublin 
 ontests of the 
 
 n the right 
 )nceals our 
 e is drawn 
 ;ots Greys, 
 illens ; the 
 3n Guards, 
 ry Brigade 
 )ppres8ive ; 
 amping of 
 The Rus- 
 nd then in 
 round flies 
 /^ery stride, 
 with a h'ng 
 yards, and 
 
 I 
 
 BATTLE OF BALACLAVA-CAVALRY CHARGE. 29 
 
 nin. As the Russians come witliin six hundred yards down 
 goes that hne of steel in front, and out rings a roCg volW 
 of Mim6 musketry. The distance is too great ; the Rulsiana 
 are not checked, but still sweep onward through thfsSe 
 with the whole force of horse and man, here and fee 
 knocked over by the shot of our batteries above W th 
 breathless suspense every one awaits the bursting of the 
 wave upon the line of Gaelic rock ; but ere they come with! 
 m a hundred and fifty yards, another deadly voneyflrs es 
 from the leve led rifle, and carries death and terror^ o he 
 
 W'^tt' tlr '""-^r'' "^™' Hi^Wandersi'weU 
 Th^Tf-t \ ^T*'^ spectators; but events thicken 
 The Highlanders and their splendid front are soon forgo?: 
 
 Ir TV.T'''^^ ^^^' ^ ^°™'^°* t« think of this ffc 
 hat the 93d never altered their formation to rece ve hat 
 tide of horsemen. "No," said Sir Colin Campbe 1 "I dM 
 not think It worth while to form them even £' deep » 
 
 repel the attack of these Muscovite cavaliers. Our eves 
 were, however turned in a moment on our own cavaTrv 
 We saw Brigadier-General Scarlett ride along inTronTIf hfs 
 massive squadrons. The Russians-evidentl v cormS/ 
 their light blue jackets embroidered wi h Jl'T^^^fe te^ 
 
 of thrhm^rf"^ YM '^ '''' ^^"^P' t-ards tre'br w 
 ot the hill. A forest of lances glistened in their rear and 
 
 several squadrons of grey-coated dragoons moved urquickly 
 
 to support them as they reached the summit. The in tant 
 
 they came m sight the trumpets of our cavalry gave Tt the 
 
 warmng blast which told us all that in another moment wo 
 
 should see the shock of battle beneath our very eye? LoTd 
 
 Raglan, all his staff and escort, and groups of Officers the 
 
 ntantry on the height, were spectators of the scene as 
 hough they were looking on the stage from the boxes if a 
 theatre. Nearly every one dismounted and sat down and 
 no a word was said. The Russians advanced down the 
 1 i. ", r ■■,■■""'"'' ""^^" "'^ycnanged to a trot and n* 
 tol nearly halted Their first line was°at least duUeth, 
 length of ours-rt waa three time, as deep. Behind them 
 
30 
 
 BATTLE OF BALACLAVA— CAVALRY CHARGE. 
 
 was a similar line, equally strong and compact. They evi- 
 dently despised their insignificant-looking enemy ;— but their 
 time was come. The trumpets rang out again through the 
 valley, and the Greys and Enniskilleners went right at the 
 centre of the Russian cavalry. The space between them 
 war only a few hundred yards ; it was scarce enough to let 
 the horses " gather way," nor had the men quite space suffi- 
 cient for the full play of their sword arms. The Russian 
 line brings forward each wing as our cavalry advance, and 
 threatens to annihilate them as they pass on. Turning a 
 little to their left so as to meet the Russian right, the Greys 
 rush on with a cheer that thrills to every heart— the wild 
 shout of the Enniskilleners rises through the air at the 
 same instant. As lightning flashes through a cloud, the 
 Greys and Enniskilleners pierced through iLe Hn.rk masses 
 of Russians. The shock was but for a moment. There was 
 a clash of steel and a light play of sword-blades in the air, 
 and then the Greys and the redcoats disappear in the midst 
 of the shaken and quivering columns. In another moment 
 we see them emerging and dashing on with diminished 
 numbers and in broken order against the second line, which 
 is advancing against them as fast as it can, to retrieve the 
 fortune of the charge. It was a terrible moment. " God 
 help them! they are lost!" was the exclamation of more 
 than one man, and the thought of many. With unabated 
 fire the noble hearts dashed at their enemy. It was a fight 
 of heroes. The first line of Russians— which had been 
 smashed utterly by our charge, and had fled oft" at one flank 
 and towards the centre— were coming back to swallow up 
 our handful of men. By sheer steel and sheer courage, 
 Enniskillener and Scot were winning their desperate way 
 right through the enemy's squadrons, and already grey 
 horses and red coats had appeared riglit at the rear of the 
 second mass, when, with irresistible force, like one bolt from 
 a bow, the 1st Royals, the 4th Dragoon Guards, and the 5th 
 Dragoon Guards rushed at the remnants of the first line of 
 the enemy, went through it as though it were made of 
 pasteboard, and, dashing on the second body of Russians 
 as they were still disordered by the terrible assault of the 
 Greys and their companions, put them to utter rout. 
 
THE VOYAQE. 
 
 81 
 
 VIII.— THE VOYAGE. 
 
 (WASHINQTON IRVIKO.) 
 
 hcnourr "" ^ """" P'"' °^ ^^^''' ^"" °f years and 
 
 To one given to day dreaming, and fonl of losing himself in 
 reveries, a sea voyage is full of subjects for meditation • but 
 then toey are the wonders of the deep and of the air and 
 rather tend to abstract the mind from worldly themes I 
 delighted to loll over the quarter railing, or climb to 'the 
 main-top, of a calm day, and muse for hours together on the 
 tranquil bosom of a summer's sea; to gaze upon the piles of 
 golden clouds just peering above the horizon, fancy them 
 some fairy realms, and people them with a creation of my 
 own; to watch the gentle undulating billows, rolling their 
 silver volumes, as if to die away on those happy shores 
 
 1 here was a delicious sensation of mingled security and 
 awe with which I looked down, from my giddy height, on 
 the monsters of the deep at their uncouth gambols ;-shial8 
 of porpoises tumbKng about the bow of the ship: the gram- 
 pus slowly heaving his huge form above the surface ; or the 
 ravenous shark darting, like a spectre, through the blue 
 waters. My imagination would conjure up all that I had 
 heard or read of the watery world beneath me; of the finny 
 herds that roam its fathomless valleys ; of the shapeless 
 monsters that lurk among the very foundations of the earth- 
 and ot those wild phantasms that swell the tales of fisher- 
 men and sailors. 
 
 Sometimes a distant sail, gliding along the edge of the 
 ocean, would be another theme of idle specuIatioS. How 
 interesting this fragment of a world, hastening to rejoin the 
 great mass of existence! What a glorious monument of 
 human invention, which has in a manner triumphed over 
 wind and wave ; has brought the ends of the world into 
 communion: hns oMahWoh^A «>, ,-^i„__t,, „,, . 
 
 pouring into the sterile regions of the north all the luxuries 
 of the south ; has diffused the light of knowledge and the 
 
88 
 
 THE VOYAQE. 
 
 charities of cultivated life ; and has thus bound together 
 those scattered portions of the human race, between which 
 nature seemed to have thrown an insurmountable barrier. 
 
 We one day descried some shapeless object drifting at a 
 distance. At sea, everything that breaks the monotony of 
 the surrounding expanse attracts attention. It proved to 
 be the mast of a ship that must have been completely 
 wrecked ; for there were the remains of ban '1 kerchiefs, by 
 which some of the crew had fastened themselves to this 
 spar, to prevent their being washed off by the waves. 
 There was no trace by which the name of the ship could be 
 ascertained. The wreck had evidently drifted about for 
 many months ; clusters of shell-fish had fastened about it, 
 and long seaweeds flaunted at its sides. But where, thought 
 I, are the crew ? Their struggle has long been over — ^they 
 have gone down amidst the roar of the tempest— their bones 
 lie whitening among the caverns of the deep. Silence, 
 oblivion, like the waves, have closed over them, and no one 
 can tell the story of their end. What sighs have been 
 wafted after that ship ! What prayers offered up at the 
 deserted fireside at home ! How often has the mistress, the 
 wife, the mother, pored over the daily news to catch some 
 casual intelligence of this rover of the deep ! How has ex- 
 pectation darkened into anxiety — anxiety into dread— and 
 dread into despair ! Alas ! not one memento may ever re- 
 turn for love to cherish. All that may ever be known, 
 is, that she sailed from her port, " and was never heard of 
 more." 
 
 The sight of this wreck, as usual, gave rise to many dis- 
 mal anecdotes. This was particularly the case in the even- 
 ing, when the weather, which had hitherto been fair, began 
 to look wild and threatening, and gave indications of one of 
 those sudden storms which will sometimes break in upon 
 the serenity of a summer voyage. As we sat round the dull 
 light of a lamp in the cabin that made the gloom more 
 ghastly, every one had his tale of shipwreck and disaster. 
 
 The storm increased with the night. The sea was lashed 
 into tremendous confusion. There was a fearful, sullen 
 sound of rushing waves and broken surges. Deep called 
 unto deep. At times, the black volume of clouds overhead 
 
 If I 
 
bound together 
 between wliich 
 itable barrier. 
 3ct drifting at a 
 lie monotony of 
 I. It proved to 
 )een completely 
 iP'lkercliiefs, by 
 mselvea to this 
 by the waves. 
 10 ship could be 
 ifted about for 
 itened about it, 
 where, thought 
 )een over — ^they 
 ;st — their bones 
 deep. Silence, 
 era, and no one 
 ghs have been 
 'ered up at the 
 lie mistress, the 
 } to catch some 
 ! How has ex- 
 ato dread— and 
 to may ever re- 
 ver be known, 
 never hearc". of 
 
 ie to many dis- 
 
 ise in the even- 
 
 aeen fair, began 
 
 ations of one of 
 
 break in upon 
 
 round the dull 
 
 lie gloom more 
 
 and disaster. 
 
 sea was lashed 
 
 fearful, sullen 
 
 I. Deep called 
 
 ilouds overhead 
 
 THE VOYAGK 
 
 83 
 
 seemed rent asunder by flashes of lightning which quivered 
 along the foaming billows, and made the succeeding d Z'ss 
 doubly terrible. The thunders bellowed over the ^vild w^ o 
 
 waves. AS 1 saw the ship staggering and plunrrinrr amonrr 
 these roaring caverns, it seemed miraculous that rheig^nod 
 her balance or preserved her buoyancy. Her yards would 
 
 ZT wll" '' '" '°" r ''''''' b-iedCnearh te 
 rrrwhclm t 1 "° ™P^"^^'"S «"'-ge appeared ready to 
 overw holm her, and nothing but a dexterous movement of 
 
 wl "" preserved her from the shock. 
 n,A tS ^ ''f?.'^ *° ™^ '^^'^"' *^« ^^^"I s'^ene still followed 
 
 yawn^g of a seam, might give l.im entrance. ' ° 
 
 W canvas, every sail swelled, and careering 8^^°!"^ 
 
 srs^rt'dtr-'*"''-^^^^^^ 
 
 I might fill a volume with thp rPVAiMoc «f „ 
 for wi'fii T«o u • 1 . reveiies ot a soa vova*^e 
 
 dered. -"aious 3 carts have pon- 
 
 From that time until the mon,cnt of arrival, it was all 
 
 o 
 
34 
 
 THE VOYAGE. 
 
 I 
 
 k 
 
 ■f 
 
 feverish excitement. Tlie ships of war, that prowled hke 
 guardian gianta along the coast ; the headlands of Ireland, 
 stretching out into the Channel; the Welsh mountains, 
 towering into the clouds ; all were objects of intense mter- 
 est. As we sailed up the Mersey, I reconnoitred the shores 
 with a telescope. My eyo dwelt with delight on neat cot- 
 tages, with their trim shrubberies and green grass plots. I 
 Baw the mouldering ruin of an abbey overrun with ivy, 
 and the taper spire of a village church, rising from the 
 brow of a neighbouring hill.-all were charactcns.i) ot 
 
 ]"jngland. ■• 
 
 The tide and wind were so favourable that the sliip was 
 enabled to come at once to the pier. It was thronged with 
 lieople; some, idle lookers on; others eager expectants of 
 friends or relatives. I could distinguisli the merchant to 
 whom the ship was consigned; I knew him by his calculat- 
 ing brow and restless air. His hands were thrust into his 
 pockets; he was whistling thoughtful^, and walking to 
 and fro, a small space having been aocorded hira by the 
 crowd, in deference to his temporary importance. There 
 were repeated cheerings and salutations interchanged be- 
 tween the shore and the ship, as friends happened to recog- 
 nise each other. 
 
 I particularly noticed one young woman of humble dress, 
 but interesting demeanour. She was leaning forward from 
 among the crowd ; her eye hurried over the ship as it neared 
 the shore, to catch some wished-for countenance. She 
 seemed disappointed and agitated, when I heard a faint 
 voice call her name. It was from a poor sailor who had 
 been ill all the voyage, and had excited the sympathy of 
 every one on board. When the weather was fine, his mess- 
 mates had spread a mattress for him on deck in the shade, 
 but of late his illness had so increased, that he had taken to 
 his hammock, and only breathed a wish that he might see 
 his wife before he died. He had been helped on deck as we 
 came up the river, and was now leaning against the shrouds, 
 with a countenance so wasted, so pale, so ghastly, that it 
 waa nn wnnd«r fiven the eve of affection did not recognise 
 him. But at the sound of his voice, her eye darted on hia 
 features : it read at once a whole volume of sorrow ; she 
 
 til 
 
 4 
 
VISION OF SUDDEN DEATH. 
 
 ad 
 
 it prowled like 
 mda of Ireland, 
 Dish mountains, 
 f intense inter- 
 itrcd the shores 
 ;ht on neat cot- 
 1 grass plots. I 
 errun with ivy, 
 rising from the 
 iharactcris.ii of 
 
 at the sliiji was 
 ,a thronged with 
 9r expectants of 
 ;he merchant to 
 I by his calculat- 
 ) thrust into his 
 md walking to 
 ded him by the 
 jortance. There 
 interchanged be- 
 .ppened to recog- 
 
 of humble dress, 
 ng forward from 
 ship as it nearcd 
 untenance. She 
 I heard a faint 
 r sailor who had 
 the sympathy of 
 'as fine, his mess- 
 3ck in the shade, 
 ,t he had taken to 
 hat he might see 
 ped on deck as we 
 ainst the shrouds, 
 ghastly, that it 
 did not recognise 
 eye darted on bia 
 le of sorrow ; she 
 
 uttered a faint shriek, clasped her hands, and stood wriuL'- 
 ing them in silent agony. 
 
 All now was hurry and bustle. The meetings of ac- 
 quamtances-the greetings of friends-the consultations of 
 men of business. I alone was solitary and idle. I had no 
 friend to meet, no cheering to receive. I stepped upon the 
 and of my forefathers-but felt that I was a stranger in 
 the land. *" 
 
 IX.-VISION OP SUDDEN DEATH. 
 
 (THOMAS DB QCINCBT.) 
 The Incident here deacrlbed occurred while Mr. De Qiilncey wn« travellln«r h, 
 
 mSATh' ""' r"™"" »''""»? "»'««?. «n1 the pace bo'^ng about Seen 
 mile, an hour. The morning twilight added to the danger and thAuSpenT 
 
 Before us lay an avenue, straight as an arrow, six hundred 
 yards, perhaps. In length; and the umbrageous trees, which 
 rose m a regular line from either side, meeting high over- 
 head, gave to it the character of a cathedral aisle. These 
 wL'lfin-\?''P'' solemnity to the early lighf.; but there 
 was still light enough to perceive, at the further end of this 
 Uotliic aisle, a light, reedy gig, in which were seated a youns 
 man, and by his side a young lady. The little carriage is 
 creeping on at one mile an hour, and the parties within it 
 are naturally bending down their heads. Between them 
 and eternity, to all human calculation, there is but a minute 
 and a half. I shouted, and the young man heard me not. 
 A second time I shouted; and now he heard me, for now he 
 raised his head. ""»» no 
 
 nlZiT"" ''T^'' ^* "^'^^^ ^'' °^ ^'' «^^«°*y. the stranger 
 settled his countenance steadfastly upon us, as if to search 
 and value every element in the conflict before him. For 
 hve seconds more he sat immovably, like one that mused on 
 
 iZ'aZ't T^^''^ •^'' ^^' ^' ^*^ ^^*h «y«« "Praised. 
 1 ke one that prayed in sorrow, under some extremity of 
 doubt, for wisdom to guide him toward the better choice. 
 
 Ihen suddenly he rose, stood unr\aht. and h^ « o„.ij.^ 
 strain upon the reins, raising his horse's fore-feet from the 
 ground, he slewed him round on " ' 
 
 the pivot of his hind legs, 
 
M 
 
 VISION OF HUDDEN DEATH. 
 
 BO as to plant tho littlo equipage in a position nearly at 
 right angles to ours. Thus far his condition was not im- 
 proved, except as a first step had been taken toward the 
 j)088ibility of a second. If no more were done, notliiug was 
 done ; for tlie little carriage still occupied the very centre 
 of our path, though in an altered direction. Yet even now 
 it may not be too late ; fifteen of the twenty seconds may 
 still be unexhausted, and one almighty bound forward may 
 avail to clear the ground. 
 
 Hurry, then, hurry ! for the flying moments, they hurry ! 
 Oh, hurry, hurry, my bravo young man, for the cruel hoofs 
 of our horses, they also hurry I Fast are the flying moments, 
 faster are the hoofs of our horses. I'ear not for him, if 
 human energy can suftice ; faithful was he that drove, to his 
 terrific duty ; faithful was the horse to his command. One 
 blow, one impulse given with voice and hand by tho stranger, 
 one rush from the horse, one bound as if in the act of rising 
 to a fence, landed the docile creature's fore-feet upon the 
 crown or arching centre of the road. The larger half of the 
 little equipage had then cleared our ovcrtowering shadow; 
 that was evident even to my own agitated sight. 
 
 But it mattered little that one wreck should float ofl" in 
 safety, if upon the wreck that perished were embarked the 
 hura-m freightage. The rear part of the carriage, was that 
 certainly beyond the line of absolute ruinl What power 
 could answer the question 1 Glance of eye, thought of man, 
 wing of angel, which of these had speed enough to sweep 
 between the question and the answer, and divide the one 
 from the other? Light does not tread upon the steps of 
 light more indivisibly than did our all-conquering arrival 
 upon the escaping efforts of the gig. We ran past them 
 faster than ever mill-race in our inexorable flight. 
 
 Oh, raving of hurricanes that must have sounded in their 
 young ears at the moment of our transit ! With the swingle- 
 bar we had struck the off'-wheel of the little gig, which stood 
 rather obliquely, and not quite so far advanced as to be 
 accurately parallel with the near wheel. The blow, from 
 the fury of our passage, resounded terrifically. From my 
 
 nl2..„X^J ~4.„J.:,... T 1 — 1 — 1 j„..._ _„,! i~--i 1 >, 1- .,— — aU- 
 
 cicvciLcu aiatiun i. luun-cu uOv.ii, iiHu lOOivcu DtiLiR. upuu iii6 
 
 BC€ne, which in a moment told its tale, and wrote all its 
 
jition nearly at 
 on was not im- 
 ken toward tlio 
 ne, nothing was 
 the very centre 
 Yet even now 
 ty seconds may 
 id forward may 
 
 nts, they hurry ! 
 the cruel hoofs 
 flying moments, 
 not for Aiwi, if 
 lat drove, to his 
 jommand. One 
 by the stranger, 
 the act of rising 
 e-feet upon the 
 irger half of the 
 wering shadow ; 
 ight. 
 
 )uld float oif in 
 e embarked the 
 Triage, was tlial 
 ? What power 
 thought of man, 
 mough to sweep 
 [ divide the one 
 on the steps of 
 iquering arrival 
 1 ran past them 
 flight. 
 
 30unded in their 
 f^ith the swingle- 
 gig, which stood 
 iranced as to be 
 The blow, from 
 
 ally. From my 
 I 1 — 1. ii,_ 
 
 I Dauji. upuu tiiu 
 
 id wrote all its 
 
 i 
 
 VISION OF 8UDDEN DEATH. m 
 
 f«UorJ"n!,n7,\"","''-r''^' ""'"'P'' f™ »>» dread. 
 
 mv^dm^'^^', ^^'' ^"^ ^^"* «P^«t^^'« «ver depart from 
 
 nrS 1 «•[ r^""'^"^' *^« circumstances of the un^ 
 fiom the woods and fields-suddenly as from the hambeJs 
 
 ot my eyes in an mstant, and swept it into my dreams for 
 
nr 
 
 I 
 
 38 LUCY FLEMINa. 
 
 X.-IUCY FLEMING. 
 
 (professor WILSON.) 
 
 John Wllion, late Professor of Moral Plillogophy In the University of EdlnburRh, 
 WHS born In Paisley In 1785. He died In Edinburgh In 1854. Of his poems, 
 the best known are, "The Isle of Palms," and "City of the Plague;" and oi 
 his prose works, "Kecreatlons of Christopher North," and "Noctes Aui- 
 broslanao." 
 
 In an English village— highland or lowland— seldom ia there 
 any spot bo beautiful as the church-yard. That of Grassmere 
 is especially so, with the pensive shadows of the old church 
 tower settling over its cheerful graves. Ay, its cheerful 
 graves! Startle not at the word as too strong — for the 
 pigeons are cooing in the belfry, the stream is murmuring 
 round the mossy church-yard wall, a few lambs are lying on 
 the mounds, and flowers laughing in the sunshine over the 
 cells of the dead. But hark ! the bell tolls— one— one— one 
 — a funeral knell, speaking not of time, but of eternity ! 
 To-day there is to be a burial— and close to the wall of the 
 
 tower you see the new dug grave 
 
 Tliirty years ago — how short a time in national history- 
 how long in that of private sorrows ! — all tongues were 
 speaking of the death that there befell, and to have seen the 
 weeping, you would have thought that the funeral could 
 never have been forgotten. But stop now the shepherd on 
 the hill, and ask him who lived in that nook, and chance is 
 he knows not even their name, much less the story of their 
 afflictions. It was inhabited by Allan Fleming, his wife, 
 and an only child, known ftimiliarly in her own small world 
 by the name of Lucy op the Fold. In almost every dis- 
 trict among the mountains, there is its peculiar pride— some 
 one creature to whom nature has been especially kind, and 
 whose personal beauty, sweetness of disposition, and felt 
 superiority of mind and manner, single her out, unconsciously, 
 na an object of attraction and praise, making her the May- 
 day Queen of the unending year. Such a darling was Lucy 
 Fleming ere she had finished her thirteenth year; and 
 Bfcrangers, who had heard tell of her loveliness, often 
 dropped in, as if by accident, to see the Beauty of Rydal- 
 mure 
 
LUCY FLEMINO. 
 
 39 
 
 lational Instory— 
 
 One summer day a youthful stranger appeareJ at the 
 door of the house, and after an hour's stay, during wliich 
 Lucy was from home, asked if tliey would let him have 
 lodging with them for a few months-a single room for bed 
 and books, and that he would take his meals with the 
 
 lilf^^f IT "''^'•^' ^'^•' *° ^'"^ P««*^y l^'-^d been the 
 light of life, nor did ever creature of poetry belon- more 
 
 entirely than he to the world of imagination. Home, Friends 
 
 colleges, cities-all sunk away into oblivion, and Hark v 
 
 downin a land beyond the sea, foreign to all he had before 
 experienced, yet m its perfect and endless beauty appealing 
 to ;L "' ""'"' tenderly and strongly to a spirit awakened 
 
 tlTZ rr' "5:^ Tf °^ ^° "^^ ^"^«"°»- ^^ that cot- 
 tage he took up his abode. In a few weeks came a library 
 
 of books m all languages; and there was much wondering 
 
 a k over all the country side about the mysterious young 
 
 stranger who now lived at the Fold. ^ 
 
 Every day-and, when he chose to absent himself from 
 his haunts among the hills, every hour-was Lucy beforS 
 young poet's eyes; and every hour did her beauty wlx mo o 
 beautiful m his imagination ^^ muio 
 
 What wild schemes does not love imagine, and in the face 
 
 of very impossibility achieve ! " I will take Lucy to myself 
 
 f It should be in place of all the world. I will mvself shed 
 
 hght over her being, till in a new spring it sha itladorn d 
 
 rTnted"\'°T *'^^ '^'^ ""^ '^^^' PcrenLund s" f 
 Tn wt ^ % ^'"^ y'""'' *^' ^^'g'^t docile creature will 
 have the soul of a very angel-and then, before God and a 
 US holy altar, mine shall she become for ever- here and 
 hereaf er-m this paradise of earth, and, if more celesS 
 be, m the paradise of heaven." celestial 
 
 tJ^nV^"" a'^^'T'V'^ two winters wheeled away into 
 the past; and m the change, imperceptible from day to day 
 but glorious at last, wrought on Lucy's nature by communi-' 
 cation with one so prodigally endowed, scarcely coSd her 
 
 d f^' as bX "" ''rr""' ''''''^ ^^-P* that she was 
 uuuiui as Deiore, aa nffppfinnofn „„j „_ x- i „ ,, . 
 
 place. She had now {.-rown to woman's stature- taU, though 
 
fF 
 
 r1 
 
 40 
 
 LUCY FLEMING. 
 
 she scarcely seemed so except when among her playmates ; 
 and in her maturing loveliness, fulfilling, and far more than 
 fulfilling, the fair promise of her childhood. Never once had 
 the young stranger — stranger no more — spoken to daughter, 
 father, or mother, of his love 
 
 At last it was known through the country that Mr. How- 
 ard — the stranger, the scholar, the poet, the elegant gentle- 
 man, of whom nobody knew much, but whom everybody 
 loved, and whose father must at the least have been a lord, — 
 was going, in a year or less, to marry the daughter of Allan 
 Fleming — Lucy of the Fold 
 
 In spring, Mr. Howard went away for a few months — it 
 was said to the great city — and on his return at midsummer, 
 Lucy was to be his bride. They parted with a few peaceful 
 tears, and though absent were still together. And now a 
 letter came, saying that before another Sabbath he would 
 
 be at the Fold Lucy saw the Sabbath of his return 
 
 and its golden sun, but it was in her mind's eye only; for ere 
 it was to descend behind the hills, she was not to be among 
 the number of living things. 
 
 Up Forest-UUswater the youth had come by the light of 
 the setting sun ; and as he crossed the mountains to Grass- 
 mere by the majestic path of the Hawse, still as every new 
 star arose in heaven, with it arose as lustrous a new emotion 
 from the bosom of his betrothed. The midnight hour had 
 been fixed for his return to the Fold ; and as he reached the 
 eliffs above White-moss, according to agreement a light was 
 
 burning in the low window — the very planet of love 
 
 Prayers crowded fast into his soul, and tears of joy fell from 
 his eyes as he stood at the threshold, almost afraid in the 
 trembling of life-deep affection to meet her first embrace. 
 
 In the silence, sobs and sighs, and one or two long deep 
 groans! Then in another moment, he saw— through the 
 open door of the room where Lucy used to sleep — several 
 figures moving to and fro in the light, and one figure upon 
 its knees — who else could it be but her father ! Unnoticed 
 he became one of the pale-faced company — and there he be- 
 held her on her bed, mute and motionless, her face covered 
 •with a deplorable beautv — eves closed and her hands 
 clasped upon her breast! "Dead, dead, dead!" muttered 
 
 i 
 
; her playmates; 
 
 nd far more than 
 
 Never once had 
 
 iken to daughter, 
 
 y that Mr. How- 
 e elegant gentle- 
 vhom everybody 
 ve been a lord, — • 
 aughter of Allan 
 
 I few months — it 
 n at midsummer, 
 th a few peaceful 
 er. And now a 
 abbath he would 
 ath of his return 
 eye only; for ere 
 not to be among 
 
 e by the light of 
 mtains to Grass- 
 itill as every new 
 us a new emotion 
 dnight hour had 
 IS he reached the 
 ment a light was 
 
 t of love 
 
 •s of joy fell from 
 lost afraid in tho 
 first embrace, 
 or two long deep 
 iw— through the 
 bo sleep — several 
 [ one figure upon 
 her ! Unnoticed 
 -and there he be- 
 her face covered 
 and her hands 
 dead !" muttered 
 
 LUCY FLEMING. 
 
 41 
 
 in his ringing ears a voice from the tombs, and he fell 
 down m the midst of them with great violence upon the 
 
 Three days and three nights did he sit beside her who 
 sosoon waa to have been his bride-and come or go who 
 would mto the room, he saw them not-his sight wai fixed 
 on the windmg-sheet, eyeing it without a single tear from 
 feet to forehead, and sometimes looking up to heaven. As 
 men forgotten in dungeons have lived miserablv long with- 
 out food, so did he, and so he would have done, on and 
 
 cToiV It 71 .^'f ^'^'^^^^ ^^y- ^''^ t^at one chair! 
 c ose to the bedside, he never rose. Night after night, when 
 
 m cLthtf.r \"t.^' '^ °^^" Blept. Through one'oTthe 
 midnights there had been a great thunder-storm, the li^ht- 
 
 TheaTr^' " f^ fT *° *'^ ''''^^' ' ^"* i* -«-«d that 
 he heard it not ; and during the floods of next day, to him 
 
 the roaring vale was silent. On the morning of the funeraT 
 the old people-for now they seemed to be old-wept I see 
 him sitting still beside their dead child j for each of the few 
 remaining hours had now its own sad office, and a man had 
 come to nail down the coffin. Three black 'specks sudde^y 
 alighted on the face of the corpse~and then ofi^-and on- 
 and away-and returning-was hoard the buzzing of large 
 flies attracted by beauty iu its corruption. "Ha-ha''' 
 staiting up, he cried in horror-" What birds of prey are 
 these whom Satan has sent to devour the corpse ?" He Z 
 came s ricken with a sort of palsy, and, being led out to tht 
 open air, was laid down, seemingly as'dead'as her ISth f 
 on the green daisied turf, where, beneath the shadow of to 
 r wVlSt^ '''- -^' «^^»^ "P beautifuTvi2S: 
 The company assembled-but not before his eyes-the 
 bier was lifted up and moved away down the slvl slope 
 and away round the head of the lake, and over £ wooden 
 bridge, accompanied here and there as it passed the wavside 
 
 ^Z Taw Yet ^«-/--' ^^ ^^- --^ 'f 3- 
 out He saw-he heard not;-when the last sound of tha 
 
 spade rebounded from the smooth arch of the .T. ^1^11 
 
 witVt.''' ^'t ''' ^^"' ^' ^^^ ^J'i"g ^here they Yeft Wm 
 with one or two pitying dalesmen at his head and Zt 
 
(W 
 
 m I 
 
 -11 
 111 
 
 lili 
 
 42 
 
 LUCY FLEMING. 
 
 When he awoke again and rose up, the cottage of the Fold 
 was as if she had never been born—for she had vanished for 
 ever and aye, and her sixteen years' smiling life was all ex- 
 tinguished in the dust. 
 
 Weeks and months passed on, and still there was a vacant 
 wildness in his eyes, and a mortal ghastliness all over his 
 ftice, inexpressive of a reasonable soul. It scarcely seemed 
 that he knew where he was, or in what part of the earth ; 
 yet, when left by himself, he never sought to move beyond 
 the boundaries of the Fold. During the first faint glimmer- 
 ings of returning reason, he would utter her name, over and 
 over many times, with a mournful voice, but still he knew 
 not that she was dead— then he began to caution them all 
 to tread softly, for that sleep had fallen upon her, and her 
 fever in its blessed balm might abate— then with groans, 
 too affecting to be borne by those who heard them, he would 
 ask why, since she was dead, God had the cruelty to keep 
 him, her husband, in life ; and finally and last of all, he 
 imagined himself in Grassmere Church-yard, and clasping a 
 little mound on the green, which it was evident he thought 
 was her grave, he wept over it for hours and hours, and 
 kissed it, and placed a stone at its head, and sometimes all 
 at once broke out into fits of laughter, till the hideous 
 fainting fits returned, and after long convulsions left him 
 lying as if stone dead. As for his bodily frame, when Lucy's 
 father lifted it up in his arms, little heavier was it than a 
 bundle of withered fern. Nobody supposed that one so 
 miserably attenuated and ghost-like could for many days be 
 alivo ; yet not till the earth had thrice revolved round the 
 sun did that body die, and then it was buried far away 
 from the Fold, the banks of Rydal-water, and the sweet 
 mountains of Westmoreland ; for after passing like a shadow 
 through many foreign lands, he ceased his pilgrimage in 
 Palestine, even beneath the shadow of Mount Zioa, and was 
 laid, with a lock of hair— which, from the place it held, 
 strangers knew to have belonged to one dearly beloved- 
 close to his heart, on which it had lain so long and with 
 which it was to moulder away in darkness, by Christian 
 hands and in a Christian sepulclire. 
 
;tage of the Fold 
 had vanished for 
 g life was all ex- 
 
 lere was a vacant 
 iness all over his 
 ; scarcely seemed 
 art of the earth ; 
 t to move beyond 
 rst faint glimmer- 
 sr name, over and 
 but still he knew 
 caution them all 
 ipon her, and her 
 hen with groans, 
 •d them, he would 
 e cruelty to keep 
 id last of all, he 
 rd, and clasping a 
 vident he thought 
 3 and hours, and 
 ind sometimes all 
 , till the hideous 
 vulsions left him 
 ame, when Lucy's 
 vier was it than a 
 osed that one so 
 
 for many days be 
 evolved round the 
 
 buried far away 
 Br, and the sweet 
 sing like a shadow 
 bis pilgrimage in 
 uut Zioa, and was 
 bhe place it held, 
 
 dearly beloved— 
 
 so long and with 
 iiess, by Christian 
 
 STORY OF LE FEVRR. 
 
 SECTION II.-FICTION. 
 
 43 
 
 lUiKlcr Uilt head arc classed all those pieces which are taken from woiks of 
 action, even though tlicy have a historical basis, or are largely descriptive ] 
 
 I.-STORT OP IE FEVEE. 
 
 (STKRNK.) 
 
 The Hev. Laurence Sterne was bom at Clonmel, Ireland, In 1713. He was a 
 clergyman of the Episcopal Church In England for many years, and died In 
 London in 1768 
 
 It was some time in the summer of that year in which 
 Dendermond was taken by the Allies, when my uncle Toby 
 was one evening getting his supper, with Trim sitting behind 
 him at a small side-board.— I say sitting ; for, in considera- 
 tion of the Corporal's lame knee, which sometimes gave him 
 exquisite pain,— when my uncle Toby dined or supped alone, 
 he would never suffer the Corporal to stand : and the poor 
 fellow's veneration for his master was such, that, with a 
 proper artillery, my uncle Toby could have taken Dender- 
 mond itself with less trouble than he was able to gain this 
 point over him ; for many a time, when my uncle Toby sup- 
 posed the Corporal's leg was at rest, he would look back, 
 and detect him standing behind him with the most dutiful 
 respect. This bred more little squabbles betwixt them than 
 all other causes for five and twenty years together. 
 
 He was one evening sitting thus at his supper, when the 
 landlord of a little inn in the village came into the parlour 
 with an empty phial in his hand, to beg a glass or two of 
 sack. " 'Tis for a poor gentleman— I think of the army," 
 said the landlord, " who has been taken ill at my house, 
 four days ago, and has never held up his head since, or had 
 a desire to taste anything— till jnsf. v.ov^ that he has a fancy 
 for a glass of sack and a thin toast—' I think,' says ho, 
 taking his liaud from his forehead, ' it would comfort me.'— 
 
STORY OP LE FEVRE. 
 
 — " If I could neither beg, borrow, nor buy such a thing," 
 added the landlord, " I would almost steal it for the poor 
 gentleman, he is so ill. — I hope he will still mend," continued 
 he : "we are all of us concerned for him." 
 
 — " Thou art a good-natured soul, I will answer for thee," 
 cried my uncle Toby; "and thou shalt drink the poor gentle- 
 man's health in a glass of sack thyself, — and take a couple 
 of bottles, with my service, and tell him he is heartily wel- 
 come to them, and to a dozen more, if they will do him good. 
 
 " Though I am persuaded," said my uncle Toby, as the 
 landlord shut the door, " he is a very compassionate fellow, 
 Trim, yet I cannot help entertaining a high opinion of his 
 guest too ; there must be something morf^ than common in 
 him, that, in so short a time, should win ^o much upon the 
 affections of his host" — " And of his whole family," added 
 the Corporal ; " for they are all concerned for him." — " Step 
 after him," said my uncle Toby — " do, Trim, and ask if he 
 knows his name." 
 
 — " I have quite forgot it, truly," said the landlord, com- 
 ing back into the parlour with the Corporal ; " but I can ask 
 his son again." — " Has he a son with him, then ?" said my 
 uncle Toby. — "A boy," replied the landlord, "of about eleven 
 or twelve years of age; but the poor creature has tasted 
 almost as little as his father— he does nothing but mourn 
 and lament for him night and day — he has not stirred from 
 the bed-side these two days." 
 
 " ' If I get better, my dear,' said he, as he gave his purse 
 to his son to pay the man, — ' we can hire horses from 
 hence.' — ' But, alas ! the poor gentleman will never get from 
 hence,' said the landlady to me, — ' for I heard the death- 
 watch all night long ; and when he dies, the youth, his son, 
 will certainly die with him ; for he is broken-hearted already.' 
 
 " I was hearing this account," continued the Corporal 
 " when the youth came into the kitchen to order the thin 
 toast the landlord spoke of — ' But I v/ill do it for my father 
 myself,' said the youth. — ' Pray, let me save you the trouble, 
 young gentleman,' said I, taking up a fork for the purpose, 
 and offering him my chair to sit down upon by the firw 
 whilst I did it. * I believe, sir,' said he, very modestly, ' I 
 can please him best myself.'— ' I am sure,' said I, 'his honour 
 
ly such 0, thing," 
 [ it for the poor 
 aend," continued 
 
 inawer for thee," 
 c the poor gentLe- 
 id take a couple 
 3 is heartily wel- 
 vill do him good. 
 3le Toby, as the 
 assionate fellow, 
 li opinion of his 
 ;han common in 
 > much upon the 
 B family," added 
 or him!"—" Step 
 1, and ask if he 
 
 3 landlord, com- 
 l ; " but I can ask 
 thenl" said my 
 "of about eleven 
 ature has tasted 
 hing but mourn 
 not stirred from 
 
 e gave his purse 
 lire horses from 
 li never get from 
 leard the death- 
 le youth, his son, 
 ■hearted already.' 
 ed the Corporal 
 3 order the thin 
 it for my father 
 3 you the trouble, 
 for the purpose, 
 ipon by the fire 
 ery modestly, ' I 
 lid I, 'his honour 
 
 STORY OF LE FEVRE. 45 
 
 Will not like the toast the worse for being toasted by an old 
 soldier.' The youth took hold of my hand, and instantly 
 burst mto tears !'^" Poor youth !" said my uncle Toby,i 
 he has been bred up from an infant in the army and the 
 name of a soldier, Trim, sounded in his ears likeVe nam 
 of a friend ;— I wish I had him here." 
 -"I never in the longest march," said the Corporal, 
 had so great a mmd to my dinner as I had to cry with 
 him for company :-What could be the matter with me 
 an t please your honour ?»-" Nothing in the world. Trim '' 
 said my uncle Toby, blowing his nose.-" but that hou^t 
 a good-natured fellow." 
 
 " When I gave him the toast," continued the Corporal " I 
 thouglit It was proper to tell him I was Captain Shandy's 
 servant, and that your honour-though a stranger-was 
 extremely concerned for his father :-and that if th e w^ 
 anything in your house or cellar" -"And thou mghS 
 have added my purse, too," said my nncle Toby;-'^hf wt 
 heartily welcome to it. He made a very low bow- wS 
 was meant to your honour-but no answer-his hoavT^Z 
 full-so he went up stairs with the toast. ' I warrant vou 
 my dear,' said I, as I opened the kitchen door, >ur 12 
 bv L' Jf ^1 agahi.'-Mr. Yorick's curate was smoC a pt 
 by the kitchen fire-but said not a word good or LT?^ 
 
 „ A think so too." said my uncle Toby. 
 When the Lieutenant had taken his glass of sack nnrl 
 toast he felt himself a little revived, and sit down into the 
 
 beSif?* "^^I'r *'^* ^" ^^°^* *«" minutesTe shouW 
 be glad If I would step up stairs. 'I believe.' said theland- 
 ord. he IS going to say his prayers-for the;e was a book 
 
 w'hTs tft '' i^ ''';''''■' -^' - -^ «^ut th: doot 
 I saw his son take up his cushion ' * 
 
 arly^Mr'S t"^ ^^' T''' ' '^"* ^''' ^^"^^^^^^ ^^ the 
 army. Mr. Trim, never said your prayers at all.'-' I heard 
 
 the poor gentleman say his prayers last night' said the 
 
 landlaay, 'very devoutly, and wit^i my own ears or I oo, Id 
 
 not have believed it.'-' Are von .JeZVT'jH''''^^ 
 
 ::':^'tfT''" ^"' p^«- ^-reveren;;.' si?v;:;: 
 
 as often-of his own accord-as a parson :-and, when he 
 
46 
 
 STORY OF LE FEVRE. 
 
 I ! 
 
 PI ■ 
 
 !l!f 
 
 is fighting for his king, and for his own life, and for hia 
 honour too, he has the most reason to pray to God of any 
 one in the whole world.' "— " 'Twas well said of thee, Trim," 
 said my uncle Toby. " ' But when a soldier,' said I, ' an't 
 please your reverence, has been standing for twelve hours 
 together in the trenches, up to his knees in cold water,— or 
 engaged,' said I, 'for five months together, in long and danger- 
 ous marches ;— harassed, perhaps, in his rear to day ; harass- 
 ing others to-morrow ; — detached here — countermanded 
 there ;— resting this night out upon his arms ; beat up in 
 his shirt the next ;— benumbed in his joints— perhaps with- 
 out straw in his tent to kneel on ;— he must say his prayers 
 how and whenhe can.— I believe,' said 1— for I was piqued," 
 quoth the Corporal, " for the reputation of the army—' I 
 believe, an't please your reverence,' said I, ' that when a sol- 
 dier gets time to pray, he prays as heartily as a parson,— 
 though not with all his fuss and hypocrisy.'"— "Thou shouldst 
 not have said that. Trim," said my uncle Toby ;— " for God 
 only knows who is a hypocrite and who is not. At the 
 great and general review of us all. Corporal, at the day of 
 judgment— and not till then— it will be seen who have done 
 their duties in this world, and who have not ; and we shall 
 be advanced. Trim, accordingly."—" I hope we shall," said 
 Trim.—" Ic is in the Scripture," said my uncle Toby ; " and 
 I will show it thee to-morrow. — In the meantime, we may 
 depend upon it. Trim, foi our comfort," said my uncle Toby, 
 " that God Almighty is so good and just a Governor of the 
 world, that if we have but done our duties in it,— it will 
 never be inquired into whether we have done them in a red 
 coat or a black one." — " I hope not," said the Corporal. — 
 " But go on. Trim," said .ay uncle Toby, " with the story." 
 " When I went up," continued the C-^rporal, " into the 
 Lieutenant's room, which I did not do till the expiration 
 of the ten minutes, he was lying in his bed with hia head 
 raised upon his hand, his elbow upon the pillow, and a 
 clean white cambric handkerchief beside it. The youth 
 was just stooping down to take up the cushion — upon which 
 I supposed he had been kneeling— the book was laid upon 
 the bed; and, as he rose, in taking up the cushion with 
 one hand, he reached out his other to take the book away 
 
life, and for his 
 f to God of any 
 id of thee, Trim," 
 ier,' said I, ' an't 
 for twelve hours 
 1 cold water, — or 
 . long and danger- 
 irtoday; harass- 
 - countermanded 
 irms ; beat up in 
 ;s — perhaps with- 
 3t say his prayers 
 for I was piqued," 
 of the army — ' I 
 'that when a Sol- 
 ly as a parson,— 
 -"Thoushouldst 
 ^oby;— "for God 
 is not. At the 
 al, at the day of 
 en who have done 
 aot ; and we shall 
 le we shall," said 
 mole Toby ; " and 
 santime, we may 
 id my uncle Toby, 
 , Governor of the 
 ies in it, — it will 
 one them in a red 
 I the Corporal. — 
 ' with the story." 
 rporal, "into the 
 ill the expiration 
 ed with his head 
 ;he pillow, and a 
 e it. The youth 
 liion — upon which 
 ok was laid upon 
 the cushion with 
 ;e the book away 
 
 8T0RY OF LE FEVRE. 
 
 47 
 
 'Let it remain there, my dear,' said the 
 
 at the same time. 
 Lieiifenant. 
 "He did not offer to speak to me tiU I had walked un 
 
 vant' '•! ^ '?'■"''• *'^' ^^" ^'' ""^^ Shandy' Br^ 
 vant, said he, you must present my thanks to your mas- 
 ter, with my little boy's thanks along with them /or hs 
 
 -I told him your honour was.-' Then,' said he, 'I served 
 three campaigns with him in Flanders, and remember 1 h,T- 
 -but ' la most likely, as I had not the honour of anV 
 acquaintance with him, that he knows nothing of me S 
 
 Id unlr"ohl r^"f *'^ P™ ^^« g-^ --^^--^as 
 m Angus s.— but he knows me not,' said he a seconrl fimn 
 
 pray tell the Captain I was the Ensign at Breda whoso 
 wife was most unfortunately kiUed with a musket shot a« 
 she lay m my arms in my tent.'-«IremembeT?he storv L't 
 P ease your honour,' said I, 'very weIl.'-'Do you o Tsald 
 he, wiping his eyes with his handkerchief,-' then well Zy 
 I-. In saying this he drew a little ring out of hilbos^m 
 which seemed tied with a black ribbon about h^ neck ami 
 kissed It twice-' Here, Billy,' said he.-The boXw aero" s 
 he room to the bed-side, and falling down upon Js knee 
 t ok the ring in his hand, and kissed it toc^-then klTd 
 h.8 father and sat down upon the bed and w;pt '' 
 
 wish%r;iw:?eX;,?^ '-''' ^^^^ ^ ^-^ ^^^^^-'^^ 
 
 cerlS'"'!'r,r/'" ''P"''^ ^^' ^''P''^^' "i« too much con- 
 
 poral_«?or t7' '^ . ' ^T^^^ ^^'^^^y'" said the Cor- 
 
 S""- me to the bottom of the stairV" I'^T .T "'° T". ""'' 
 together, toM me the. ^J^'^Z'T^XZ^Z'tTol 
 
STORY OF LE FEVRB. 
 
 their route to join the regiment in Flanders.— But, aliia !" 
 said the Corporal, " the Li.mtenant's last day's march is 
 over !"— " Then what is to become of his poor boy 1" cried 
 my uncle Toby. 
 
 " Thou hast left this matter short," said my undo Toby 
 to the Corporal, as he was putting him to bed— "and I will 
 tell thee in what. Trim.— In the first place, when thou 
 madest an offer of my services to Le Fevre,— as sickness 
 and travelling arc both expensive, and thou knewest he was 
 but a poor Lieutenant, with a son to subsist as well as him- 
 self out of his pay,— that thou didst not make an offer to 
 him of my purse ; because, had h3 stood in need, thou know- 
 est. Trim, he had been as welcome to it as myself."—" Your 
 honour knows," said the Corporal, " I had no orders."— 
 "True," quoth my Ui.cle Toby— "thou didst very right, 
 Trim, as a soldiejy-hnt certa'nly very wrong as a man. 
 
 " In the second place— for which, indeed, thou hast the 
 same excuse"— continued my uncle Toby, "when thou 
 ofFeredst him whatever was in my house, thou shouldst 
 have offered him my house too;— a, sick brother-oflacer should 
 have the best quarters, Trim : and if we had him with us— 
 we could tend and look to him ; thou art an excellent nurse 
 thyself, Trim ; and what with thy care of him, and the ola 
 woman's, and his boy's, and mine iogether,— we might re- 
 cruit him again at once, and set him upon his legs.— 
 
 — " In a fortnight or three weeks," added my uncle Toby, 
 smiling, " he might march."—" He will never march, an't 
 please your honour, in this world," said the Corporal.— 
 " He will march," said my uncle Toby, rising up from the 
 side of the bed with one shoe off.— "An't please your honour," 
 said the Corporal, " he will never march, but to his grave." 
 — " He shall march," cried my uncle Toby, marching the 
 foot which had a shoe on, though without advancing ar 
 inch,—" He shall march to his regiment."—" He cannot 
 stand it," said the Corporal.—" He shall be supported," said 
 my uncle Toby.—" He'll drop at last," said the Corporal; 
 " and what will become of his boy ?"— " He shall not drop," 
 said my uncle Toby firmly.-" A-well-a-day, do what we can 
 for him," said lYim, maintaining his point, "the poor soul will 
 die."—" He shall not die," cried my uncle Toby with an oath. 
 
 
irs,— But, aliis !" 
 
 day's march ia 
 
 loor boy?" cried 
 
 my undo Toby 
 bed— "and I will 
 lace, when thou 
 i^re, — as sickness 
 1 knewest he was 
 st as well as him- 
 nake an offer to 
 need, thou know- 
 myself."— "Your 
 ad no orders." — 
 iidst very right, 
 mg as a man. 
 d, thou hast the 
 by, "when tho\i 
 16, thou shouldst 
 ;her-officer should 
 ad him with us — 
 m excellent nurse 
 hira, and the ola 
 ir, — we might re- 
 L his legs. — 
 id my uncle Toby, 
 lever march, an't 
 I the Corporal. — 
 sing up from the 
 sase your honour," 
 but to his grave." 
 by, marching the 
 out advancing a^ 
 it." — " He cannot 
 )e supported," said 
 aid the Corporal; 
 [e shall not drop," 
 ly, do what we can 
 "the poor soul will 
 roby with an oath. 
 
 bTORY OF LE FEVRB. ^^ 
 
 The Accusing Spirit, which flpw nr ♦« ti . , 
 eery with the oath, blush d as he gave n a^lT p' '^^""' 
 iNo Anoel, as he wrote it down dlDed it ^''""T* 
 word-and blotted it out for eve^! "^"^ ^^'^ 
 
 My uncle Toby went to his bureau -nnf )„•« ,, 
 his pocket, and havinc ovchrJtZn ^ . P'""^® ^^^^^ 
 
 wheel at the cistern'^iur'n ^ ^^^ d^^^^^^ ^'T^'^ ^'"^^ '''' 
 
 Toby, who had got up an hour bpfnr 7^ ''° "^^ ""'^'^ 
 
 entered the Lieu'enan'trroom,^td ^^^^^^^ ''^'' 
 
 apology, sat himself down imnn \h.\ ^"r , ^^^^^^^ "^ 
 
 ,. and, independently of aTmode,!.'"; ^^ ^^' ^^^"^^l^- 
 
 It curtain in therannerarol^fr 7 ^r*^"'"' «P^n«d the 
 
 have done iUnd aX^h t S^^^^^^^ -o.M 
 
 in the night —whaf w«, ^ 1 i • ~ ^^^ ^^^ ^^d rested 
 
 -and wh\t\el'SSf TrTumta^nli^r '"''•"°' 
 kin. time to answer any one rftho^n^," ' '"'°'" «™« 
 told him of the little Z whiS he ri? «"' »" »"<! 
 With the Corporal the right Se ft ul-" """""'"a 
 
 Toby, ^To t hle-L^S' "^IT" »'" "^ «-■« 
 
 what', the matter -and ^'ifhii'^ '^''u" ''°°""- '» «» 
 
 Corpoml »haU be your n^ -^4"'™^"^'-""'' *» 
 Le Fevrer' " '^<' lil be your servant, 
 
 of^Si:t?;[rtr;t":?n?r,-7"'°' "■» ^^^ 
 
 into his soul, ^nd Bbow"d^,.f ^^T ',"'' '" ^™ "' <"><"' 
 
 . To this, ther^ wastr^rin^hisToorafd "'■""'""• 
 I manner, superadded wh\oh trt- "^ ,/°r ' ^°^ ^^^^e, and 
 fortunate to come and ti^^^^^ 
 
 before my unce^ob^Ld half fin^'i T^^' ^''^' «° t^^*, 
 (was makbg to theTther ft ?^/? *^" ^'^^^ «ff«r« he 
 
 W, and was pulHng it townrl ?• ^ ^^^^^^ast of his 
 Bpirits of I^ vLrltll ^""^^"^^ ^"m-- The blood and 
 
 ., titi^i ncrc! rp.rrpafi.i., *„ Ai..- . ." . 
 
 
60 
 
 THE BK0THEB8 DORRIT. 
 
 ^ 
 
 looked up wistfully in my undo Toby'a face— then cast u 
 look upon his boy.— And that ligament, fine as it was, was 
 never broken ! 
 
 Nature instantly ebbed again— the film returned to its 
 place— the pulse fluttered— stojjped— went on— throbbed— 
 Btoi)pcd again- moved— sto])ped. Shall I go on ?— No I 
 
 II.-THE BROTHERS DORRIT. 
 
 (CHARLES DICKENS.) 
 
 Cliiirlei Dickens was born at Portsmouth In 1812. On the termination of the 
 French war, his father, who held a situation In the Navy Pay Dopartraont, 
 removed to London and employed himself as a newspaper reporter. This oc- 
 cupation Mr. Dickens followed for some years, till his genius found a more 
 fitting sphere la writing works of Action. 
 
 They got him up to his room without help, and laid him 
 down on his bed. And from that hour his poor maimed 
 spirit, only remembering the place where it had broken its 
 wings, cancelled the dream through which it had since 
 groped, and knew of nothing beyond the Marshalsea.* When 
 lie heard footsteps in the street, he took them for the old 
 weary tread in the yards. When the hour came for locking 
 up, he supposed all strangers to be excluded for the night. 
 When the time for opening came again, he was so anxious 
 to see Bob that they were ftiin to patch u[^ a narrative how 
 that Bob — many a year dead then, gentle turnkey— had 
 taken cold, but hoped to be out to-morrow, or the next day, 
 or the next a( furthest. 
 
 He fell away into a weakness so extreme that he could 
 not raise his hand. But he still protected his brother, 
 according to his long usage ; and woidd say with some com- 
 placency, fifty times a day, when he saw him standing by his 
 bed, " My good Frederick, sit down. You are very feeble 
 indeed." 
 
 But the child who had done so much for him and had 
 been so poorly repaid, was never out of his mind. Not 
 
 • Mr. Dorrlt had for many years been confined in the Marshalsea, or debtors' 
 prliinn. hiit; hat\ uUlmHt^ly ftcnulred £rrcat wealth. A short time before his 
 death, his mind gave way; and in Ills ravings he returned to the scenes with 
 which be bad been £0 long familiar. 
 
 
56 — then cast u 
 as it was, wua 
 
 returned to its 
 jn— throbbed — 
 on?— Nol 
 
 THE BK0THER8 DORRIT. 
 
 61 
 
 ) termination of the 
 ■y Pay Dupartroout, 
 r rcpoi'ter. This oc- 
 {enlus found a more 
 
 , and laid him 
 
 } poor maimed 
 
 had broken its 
 
 1 it had since 
 
 halsea.* When 
 
 3m for the old 
 
 ame for locking 
 
 for the night. 
 
 .as so anxious 
 
 narrative how 
 
 turnkey— had 
 
 r the next day, 
 
 that he could 
 d his brother, 
 nth some com- 
 standing by his 
 ire very feeble 
 
 him and had 
 
 is mind. Not 
 
 'slialsea, or debtors' 
 
 'xr^ f ima \\aFf\ra Vila 
 
 to the icene* wiUi 
 
 that 1,0 spared her, or was fearful of her being ,pont bv 
 watclnng and fatigue; he was not more troubled on tlSore 
 t an he had usually been. No ; he loved hor i n I [, v 
 They were m the jail again, and she tended him, an 1 1 oZi 
 constant need of her, and could not turn without h nd 
 h even told her, sometimes, that he was eontc-nt o 'have 
 undergone a great deal for her sake. As to her she lent 
 over his bed with her quiet face against his, and wou 1 lav 
 laid down her own life to restore liim 
 _ Thus for ten days Little Dorrit bent over his pillow hv 
 mg her cheek against his. Sometimes she was so won/ou 
 hat for a few minutes they would slumber together. Then 
 she would awake; to recollect with fast-flowing silent tears 
 what ,t was Imt touched her face ; and to see, tte lin /ovc-r 
 the cherished face upon the pillow, a deeper shado^ than 
 the shadow of the Marshalsea wall 
 
 Quietly quietly, aU the lines of the plan of the creat 
 Castle melted, one after another. Quietly quietly, the rued 
 and cross-ruled countenance on which they were traced 
 
 became fair and blank. Quief' uuiet v tWflT.f! i , 
 nf tha r,r-\on.ry \. J ^\ 'l'"<^'>,tne reflected marks 
 
 ot the prison bars and of tin ^ig-zag iron on the wall-top 
 faded away. Quietly, quietly, the face subsided inloafr; 
 younger likeness of her own than she had ever s en under 
 the grey hair, and sank to rest. 
 
 nothing, and whom no one would have missed i" 
 
 of an^to'^utS' *'"une^ T' '' ^^^^'^ ^^" *^ ^^'"'^ 
 spare me t" ^'''^'' ^^^' "^^^^^ ^P^^^ your«elf.- 
 
 The old man was not deaf to the last words Wh^r, h^ 
 did begjn to restrain himself, it was thaHemigr spare 
 Tpow r :' ZT '": '.^""^' '"^' "^*^ ^'' ^hfrtmab! 
 '" o"(fJ" i: "'"''■'"."' ["" ^ionoured and blessed her. 
 
62 
 
 THE BROTHERS DORRIT, 
 
 of my dear dead brother ! All that I have looked upon, 
 with my half-blind and sinful eyes, Thou hast discerned 
 clearly, briglitly. Not a hair of her head shall be harmed 
 before Thee. Thou wilt uphold her here, to her last hour. 
 And I know thou wilt reward her hereafter !" 
 
 They remained in a dim room near, until it was almost 
 midnight, quiet and sad together. At times his grief would 
 seek relief in a burst like that in which it had found its 
 earliest expression ; but, besides that his little strength 
 would soon have been unequal to such strains, he never 
 failed to recall her words, and to reproach himself and calm 
 himself. The only utterance with which he indulged his 
 sorrow, was the frequent exclamation that his brother was 
 gone, alone ;-~that they had been together in the outset of 
 their lives ; that they had fallen into misfortune together ; 
 that they had kept together through their many years of 
 poverty ; that they had remained together to that day; and- 
 that his brother was gone alone, alone ! 
 
 They parted, heavy and sorrowful. She would not consent 
 to leave him anywhere but in his own room, and she saw him 
 lie down in his clothes upon his bed, and covered him with 
 her own hands. Then she sank upon her own bed, and fell 
 into a deep sleep,— ihe sleep of exhaustion and rest, though 
 not of corai)lote release from a pervading consciousness of 
 affliction. Sleep, good Little Dorrit. Sleep through the night ! 
 
 It was a moonlight night ; but the moon rose late, being 
 long past the full. When it was high in the peaceful firma- 
 ment, it shone through half-closed lattice blinds into the 
 solemn room where the stumblings and wanderings of a life 
 had so lately ended. Two quiet figures were within the 
 room ; two figures, equally still and impassive, equally 
 removed by an untraversable distance from the teeming 
 eartli and all that it contains, though soon to lie in it. 
 
 O'G figure reposed upon the bed. The other, kneeling on 
 the floor, drooped over it ; the arms easily and peacefully 
 resting on the coverlet ; the face bowed down, so that the 
 lips touched the hand over which with its last breath it 
 had bent. The two brothers were before their Father ; far 
 beyond the twilight judgments of this world; high above 
 its mists and obscurities. 
 
i ' 
 
 )oke(l upon, 
 
 3t discerned 
 
 be harmed 
 
 r last hour. 
 
 was almost 
 grief would 
 d found its 
 le strength 
 8, he never 
 jlf and calm 
 idulged his 
 )rother w^a 
 e outset of 
 e together; 
 ay years of 
 it day; and- 
 
 not consent 
 he saw him 
 d him with 
 ed, and fell 
 est, though 
 iousness of 
 1 the night ! 
 Idte, being 
 ;eful firma- 
 Is into the 
 igs of a life 
 within the 
 ^e, equally 
 le teeming 
 in it. 
 
 meeling on 
 peacefully 
 9 that the 
 ; breath it 
 'ather: far 
 ligh above 
 
 THE VISION OP MIEZA. 53 
 
 m.-THE VISION OP MIEZA. 
 
 (ADDISON.) 
 
 /ogeph Addison was the son of a clergyman In Wiltshire. Born 1672- died 
 
 1719. He wrote a tragedy, •'Cato,"-"The Campaign,"-" Letter' from 
 
 Italy, and other poems. But his fame rests on his essays in the Taller 
 
 Spectator, and Ovardian, and his other prose works. ' 
 
 When I was at Grand Cairo I picked up several Oriental 
 manuscripts, which I have still by me. Among others, I 
 met with one entitled " The Visions of Mirza," which I 
 have read over with great pleasure. I intend to give it to 
 the public when I have no other entertainment for them • 
 and shall begin with the first vision, which I have trans- 
 lated word for word as follows : — 
 
 " On the fifth day of the moon, which, according to the 
 custom of my forefathers, I always keep holy, after havin<» 
 washed myself and oifered up my morning devotions I 
 ascended the high hills of Bagdat, in order to pass the rest 
 of the day in meditation and prayer. As I was here airing 
 myself on the tops of the mountains, I feU into a profound 
 contemplation on the vanity of human life ; and passing from 
 one thought to another, 'Surely,' said I, 'man is but a sha- 
 dow.and life a dream.'? Whilst I was thus musing,! cast mine 
 eyes towards the summit of a rock that was not far from 
 me, where I discovered one in the habit of a shepherd, with 
 a little musical instrument in his hand. As I looked upon 
 him, he applied it to his lips, and began to play upon it. 
 The sound of it was exceeding sweet, and wrought into a 
 variety of tunes that were inexpressibly melodious and alto- 
 gether different from anything I had ever heard. They put 
 me in mind of those heavenly airs that are played to the 
 departed souls of good men upon their first arrival in para- 
 dise, to wear out the impressions of their last agonies, and 
 qualify them for the pleasures of that happy place. My 
 heart melted away in secret raptures. 
 ^ " I had been often^told that the rock before me was the 
 ..aunt of a Genius, imd that several had been entertained with 
 music who had passed by it ; but never heard that the musi- 
 cian had before made himself visible. When he had raised 
 
 tl 
 
 ''I 
 
64 
 
 THB VISION OP MIRZA. 
 
 S!S ' ^ those transporting airs which he played, to 
 ta^te the p easures of his conversation, as I looked upon him 
 hke one astonished, he beckoned to me. and by the waving 
 of his hand directed me to approach the place where he sat 
 I drew near with that reverence which is due to a superior 
 nature; and aa my heart was entirely subdued by the cap- 
 ^vaing strains I had heard, I fell down at hi.f feet an'l 
 
 S A %^-T^ f""'^'*^ "P°° °^« ^^th a look of compas- 
 sion and affability that familiarized him to my imacrination 
 and at once dispelled all the fears and apprehensions S 
 which I approached him. He lifted me from the ground 
 and taking me by the hand, 'Mirza,' said he, 'I have heard 
 thee m thy soUloquies ; follow me.' 
 
 " He then led me to the highest pinnacle of the i-ock, and 
 Pxacing me on the top of it, ' Cast thy eyes eastward.' said 
 he and tell me what thou seest.' 'I see,' said I, «a huge 
 valley, and a prodigious tide of water rolling through it' 
 
 «L .r r T *^^* *^'" ''''^' '^'^ ^«' ' ^« *h« Vale of Misery ; 
 and the ide of water that thou seest is part of the great 
 tide of Eternity.' 'What is the reason,' said I, •thafthe 
 tide I see rises out of a thick mist at one end, and 
 again loses itself in a thick mist at the other?' 'What 
 thou seest, said he, 'is that portion of Eternity which is 
 caUed Time, measured out by the sun, and reaching from 
 the beginning of the world to its consummation. Examine 
 
 hnil'/^ '. *?/' ''\*^^* '' ^^"'^^^^ ^itl^ darkness at 
 both ends, and tell me what thou discoverest in it.' ' I see 
 a bridge said I. ' standing in the midst of the tide.' ' The 
 bridge thou seest,' said he. 'is Human Life; consider it 
 attentively.' Upon a more leisurely survey of it. I found 
 that It consisted of threescore and ten entire arches, with 
 several broken arches, which added to those that were 
 entire, made up the number to about an hundred. As I was 
 counting the r.rches, the Genius told me that this bridge 
 consisted at first of a thousand arches, but that a great flood 
 swept away the rest, and left the bridge in the ruinous con- 
 
 what thou discoverest on it r 'I see multitudes of people 
 
 S7if"''''i'''/f ^'' i ^''^ ^ ^^^'^ '^«"d hanging on each 
 ena ot It. As I looked more attentively, I saw several of 
 
 4 
 
h he played, to 
 )ked upon him 
 by the waving 
 ! where he sat. 
 e to a superior 
 id by the cap- 
 fc his feet and 
 ok of compas- 
 y imagination, 
 ihensions with 
 a the ground, 
 ' I have heard 
 
 the i'ock, and 
 istward,' said 
 id I, 'a huge 
 J through if 
 lie of Misery ; 
 
 of the great 
 i I, ' that the 
 ne end, and 
 err 'What 
 nity which is 
 eaching from 
 n. Examine 
 
 darkness at 
 tt it.' ' I see 
 
 tide.' ' The 
 ; consider it 
 f it, I found 
 arches, witli 
 e that were 
 1. As I was 
 
 this bridge 
 a great flood 
 ruinous con- 
 ir,' said he, 
 les of people 
 fing on each 
 w several of 
 
 THE VISION OP MIRZA. 55 
 
 the passengers dropping through the bridge into the great tide 
 that flowed underneath it; and, upon further examination per- 
 ceived there were innumerable trap-doors that lay concealed 
 
 ^,fttv f'lf^l''^''^?' ^^'''''SevB no sooner trod upon 
 but they fell through them into the tide, and immediately 
 disappeared. These hidden pit-falls were set very thick at 
 the entrance of the bridge, so that throngs of people no sooner 
 
 Thev'i^wTv '^" f '"^ ^' "^^°y '^ *^^'^ f^l into them 
 They grew thinner towards the middle, but multiplied and 
 
 lay cbser together towards the end of the arche7Jhat were 
 
 " There were, indeed, some persons, but their number was 
 
 Drolcen arcb ■ .ut feU through one after another, beine 
 quite tired ,ent with so long a walk. ^ 
 
 I P^f <^ - -^^'^e time in the contemplation of this wonder- 
 ful structure and the great variety of objects whicMt pre- 
 BenteA My heart was filled with a deep melaSv to sTe 
 several dropping unexpectedly in the midst of m'fth and 
 jollity, and catching at everything that stood by them to save 
 
 f tholhtfui Ir """ 'r'"\"p *°"^^^« 'h« h«-'- ^ 
 
 a thoughtful posture, and in the midst of a speculation 
 stumbled and fell out of sight. Multitudes wL vei^ busy 
 m the pursmt of bubbles that glittered in their evTs anJ 
 danced before them; but often when they tWhTthem 
 selves within the reach of them, their fooring ffiled ^d 
 down they sunk. ^ I^ this confusion of objects! I oblved 
 
 TonMl Vr'*!r '""'^'^ ^^°^«' ^h« r-° to and fro 
 which d,^ n"?'' *^r*ns.««-«r^l persons on trap-doors 
 
 mS W '''^ u}''^"" ^^''' ^^y' ^°d which they 
 might have escaped had they not been thus forced upon 
 
 pros^Pf^fn^"''''?;^."'.' '^^"^^"^ myselfon this melancholy 
 prospect, told me I had dwelt long enough upon it ' Take 
 thine eyes off the bridge,' said hef ' and'tell me if thou ye 
 seest any hmg thou dost not comprehend V Upon lookfng 
 2 nIt:Lr^i!L^A:^^-f «-* ^^^^ of Wrds tha? 
 
 1! 
 
 ,.13 
 
 M 
 
 it frnmfjm^ / *• 'V"% "^""^ the bridge, and settling upon 
 moants?r,V ""'* I see vultures, harpies, ravens, cor. 
 morants, and, among many other feathered creatures, several 
 
66 
 
 THE VISION OF MIEZA. 
 
 ht le winged boys, that perch in great numbers upon the 
 middle arches.' 'These,' said the Genius, 'are Envy, 
 Avarice, Superstition, Despair, Love, with the like cares and 
 passions that infest human life." 
 
 "I here fetched a deep sigh. 'Alas,' said I, 'man was 
 made in vain ! How is he given away to misery and mor- 
 tality, tortured in life and swallowed up in death I' The 
 Genius, being moved with compassion towards me, bade me 
 quit so uncomfortable a prospect. 'Look no more,' said he, 
 'on man in the first stage of his existence, in his setting out 
 for Eternity ; but cast thine eye on that thick mist into which 
 the tide bears the several generations of mortals that fall 
 into it.' I directed my sight aa I was ordered, and (whether 
 or no the good Genius strengthened it with any supernatural 
 force, or dissipated part of the mist that was before too thick 
 for the eye to penetrate) I saw the valley opening at the 
 further end, and spreading forth into an immense ocean, 
 that had a huge rock of adamant running through the midst 
 of it, and dividing it into two equal parts. The clouds still 
 rested on one half of it, insomuch that I could discover no- 
 thing in it ; but the other appeared to me a vast ocean 
 planted with innumerable islands, that were covered with 
 fruits and flowers, and interwoven with a thousand little shin- 
 ing seas that ran among them. I could see persons dressed 
 m glorious habits, with garlands upon their heads, passing 
 among the trees, lying down by the sides of fountains, or 
 resting on beds of flowers; and could hear a confused har- 
 mony of singing birds, faUing waters, human voices, and 
 musical instruments. Gladness grew in me upon the dis- 
 covery of so delightful a scene. I wished for the wings of an 
 eagle that I might fly away to those happy seats ; but the 
 Genius told me there was no passage to them except through 
 the gates of death that I sav opening every moment upon 
 the bridge. 'The islands,' said he, 'that lie so fresh and 
 green before thee, and with which the whole face of the 
 ocean appears spotted as far as thou canst see, are more 
 in number than the sands on the sea-shore. There are 
 myriads of islands behind those which thou here discovereat. 
 reaching further than thine eye, or even thine imagination 
 can extend itself. These are the mansions of good men 
 
ibers upon the 
 8, 'are Envy, 
 3 like cares and 
 
 d I, 'man was 
 isery and mor- 
 
 death!* The 
 is me, bade me 
 more,' said he, 
 his setting out 
 Qist into which 
 rtals that fall 
 1, and (whether 
 y supernatural 
 efore too thick 
 pening at the 
 amense ocean, 
 3ugh the midst 
 'he clouds still 
 d discover no- 
 
 a vast ocean 
 
 covered with 
 md little shin- 
 srsons dressed 
 leads, passing 
 
 fountains, or 
 confused har- 
 n voices, and 
 ipon the dis- 
 le wings of an 
 eats ; but the 
 Ecept through 
 Qoment upon 
 
 so fresh and 
 5 face of the 
 ee, are more 
 . There are 
 e discoverest. 
 
 - - - J 
 
 imagination 
 >f good men 
 
 THE VISION OP MIBZA. 
 
 57 
 
 after death, who, according to the degree and kinds of virtue 
 in which they excelled, are distributed among these several 
 islands, which abound with pleasures of different kinds and 
 degrees, suitable to the relishes and perfections of those who 
 are settled in them. Every island is a paradise accommo- 
 dated to its respective inhabitants. Are not these, Mirza ! 
 habitations worth contending for ? Does life appear miser- 
 able, that gives thoe opportunities of earning such a reward? 
 Is death to be feared, that will convey thee to so happy an 
 existence 1 Think not man was made in vain, who has such 
 an eternity reserved for him.' I gazed with inexpressible 
 pleasure on these happy islands. ' At length,' said I, ' show 
 me now, I beseech thee, the secrets that lie hid under those 
 dark clouds which cover the ocean on the other side of the 
 rock of adamant.' The Genius making me no answer, I 
 turned about to address myself to him a second time, but I 
 found that he had left me. I then turned again to the 
 vision which I had been so long contemplating ; but instead 
 of the roUmg tide, the arched bridge, and the happy islands, 
 I saw nothing but the long, hollow valley of Bagdat, with 
 oxen, sheep, and camels grazing upon the sides of it." 
 
 
58 
 
 CHARACTER OP NAPOLEON. 
 
 SECTION III-MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 I.-CHAEACTER OP NAPOLEON. 
 
 (PHILLIPS.) 
 
 He is fallen ! We may now pause before that splendid pro- 
 digy, which towered amongst us like some ancient ruin 
 whose frown terrified the glance its magnificence attracted.' 
 Grand, gloomy, and peculiar, he sat upon the throne, a 
 sceptred hermit, wrapped in the solitude of his own origin- 
 ality. A mind bold, independent, and decisive; a will 
 despotic in its dictates ; an energy that distanced expedition; 
 and a conscience pliable to every touch of interest, marked 
 the outline of this extraordinary character,— the most extra- 
 ordinary, perhaps, that, in the annals of the world, ever rose 
 or reigned, or fell. ' 
 
 Flung into life in the midst of a revolution that quickened 
 every energy of a people who acknowledged no superior he 
 commenced his course a stranger by birth, and a scholar by 
 charity. With no friend but his sword, and no fortune but 
 his talents, he rushed into the lists where rank and genius 
 had arrayed themselves; and competition fled from, him as 
 from the glance of destiny. He knew no motive but interest 
 —he acknowledged no criterion but success— he worshipped 
 no god but Ambition; and with an Eastern devotion, he 
 knelt at the altar of his idolatry. Subsidiary to this, there 
 was no creed that he did not profess, there was no opinion 
 that he did not promulgate. In the hope of a dynasty he 
 upheld the Crescent ; for the sake of a divorce, he bowed be- 
 fore the Cross: the orphan of St. Louis, he became the 
 adapted child of the republic; and, with a parricidal in- 
 gratitude, on the ruins both of the crown and the tribuno 
 he reared the throne of his despotism : a professed Catholic 
 he imprisoned the pope; a pretended patriot, he impover- 
 ished the country; and, under the name of Brutus ho 
 
!•' 
 
 CHARACTER OF NAPOLEON." 
 
 60 
 
 lendid pro- 
 ;ient ruin, 
 attracted. 
 3 throne, a 
 wn origin- 
 i^e; a will 
 ixpedition; 
 3t, marked 
 lost extra- 
 ever rose, 
 
 quickened 
 iperior, he 
 scholar by 
 >rtune but 
 nd genius 
 m him as 
 it interest 
 orshipped 
 '■otion, he 
 his, there 
 opinion 
 nasty, he 
 )owed be- 
 came the 
 icidal in- 
 B tribune 
 
 — ,n,j 
 
 impover- 
 "utus, ho 
 
 gi-asped without remorse, and wore without shame, the dia- 
 dem of the Csesara 
 
 Through this pantomime of his policy, fortune played the 
 clown to his caprices. At his touch, crowns crumbled, 
 beggars reigned, systems vanished, the wildest theories took 
 the colour of his whims ; and all that was venerable, and all 
 that was novel, changed places with the rapidity of a drama 
 Even apparent defeat assumed the appearance of victory— 
 his flight from Egypt confirmed his destiny— ruin itself only 
 elevated him to empire. But, if his fortune was great, his 
 genius was transcendent; decision flashed upon his counsels; 
 and it was the same to decide and to perform. To inferior 
 intellects, his combinations appeared perfectly impossible, 
 his plans perfectly impracticable ; but in his hands, sim- 
 plicity marked their development, and success vindicated 
 their adoption. His person partook of the character of his 
 mind; if the one never yielded in the cabinet, the other 
 never bent in the iield. Nature had no obstacles that he 
 did not surmount, space no opposition that he did not 
 spurn;— and whether amid Alpine rocks, Arabian sands, or 
 Polar snows, he seemed proof against peril, and empowered 
 with ubiquity. The whole continent of Europe trembled at 
 beholding the audacity of his designs, and the miracle of 
 their execution. Scepticism bowed to the prodigies of his 
 performance; romance assumed the air of history; nor was 
 there aught too incredible for belief, or too fanciful for ex- 
 pectation, when the world saw a subaltern of Corsica waving 
 his imperial flag over her most ancient capitals. All the 
 visions of antiquity became common-places in his contem- 
 plation ; kings were his people— nations were his outposts • 
 and he disposed of courts, and crowns, and camps, and 
 churches, and cabinets, as if they were the titular dignitaries 
 of the chess-board. 
 
 Amid aU these changes, he stood immutable as adamant. 
 It mattered little whether in the field, or the drawing-room 
 -with the mob, or the levee— wearing the Jacobin bonnet, 
 or the iron crown— banishing a Braganza, or espousing a 
 
 , J, i.gj i.,,ttLv -ja a laih Lw Liiu Lzur 01 ifcUSoia, 
 
 or contemplating defeat at fhe gallows of Leipsic-he was 
 still the same militair despot. 
 
 
 t 
 
 w 
 
 ' ' I 
 
I 
 
 Jfi 
 
 I 1 
 
 
 . It. 
 
 60 
 
 CHARACTER OF NAPOLEON. 
 
 Cradled m the field, he was to the last hour the darling 
 of the army ; and whether in the camp or the cabinet hf 
 never forsook a friend, or forgot a favour. Of aU hTs sol 
 
 "leir first stipulation was for the safety of their favourite 
 They knew well that if he was lavish of them L was^ro 
 diga of himself ; and that if he exposed them to perif he 
 
 X p eo2T \l '^"°'f /^^ "'^ ««^^-' he suS^ed 
 every peop e; to the people, he made even pride pay tribute 
 
 The victorious veteran glittered with his gains ; and the 
 
 capital, gorgeous with the spoils of art, became the mLiature 
 
 hTalctti^n o?n "r- '^ *'" ^'""'^^^ comCt "on 
 his affectation of literature must not be omitted. The iaile^ 
 
 scriW ST' I" f''''^ '^' P^*^°°^^'« «f lettersfthe ; 0- 
 
 Tf athors afd^h^r^^^^^^ '"^^ P««««'tor 
 
 01 authors and the murderer of printers, he yet pretended 
 to the patronage of learning; the assalsin of Palm the 
 sdencer of De Stael, and the denouncer of Kotz hue he wL 
 the .nend of David, the benefactor of De LiUe, and sentli^ 
 academic prize to the philosopher of England Such a 
 me^ey of contradictions, and at the same tfme such an in 
 dividual consistency, were never united in the same charac- 
 ter A royahst, a republican, and an emperor-a Mohlm 
 medan, a Catholic, and a patron of the Vagf^e^a 
 
 hro^'^n t-*^'""*-" Christian and an infidel-h^^ 
 through all his vicissitudes, the same stern, impatientT- 
 flexible origmal-the same mysterious, incomprXnsSe self 
 - he man without a model, and without . shadow His 
 foil, like his hfe, baffled all speculation. In shirt h s 
 
 onntl^i!*''^ ^'; ^^' " ^''^"^ *« the world; and no man 
 can tell how or why he was awakened from the reverie 
 
 Kings may learn from him that their safest study as well 
 as their nobkst, is the interest of the people ; the peil ar" 
 taught by him that there is no despotism, hiwever stunen 
 dous, against which they have not a resoi^cerand to Z"e 
 who would rise upon the ruins of both, he is a living lesson 
 that, If Ambition can raise them from the lowest station ?t 
 can also prostrate them from the highest ' 
 
:k 
 
 mr the darling 
 the cabinet, he 
 
 Of all his sol- 
 'as useless rand 
 iheir favourite, 
 m, he was pro- 
 im to peril, he 
 
 he subsidized 
 de pay tribute, 
 ains; and the 
 I the miniature 
 1 combination, 
 id. The jailer 
 ters; the pro- 
 ;he persecutor 
 J^et pretended 
 of Palm, the 
 zebue, he was 
 , and sent his 
 md. Such a 
 e such an in- 
 same charac- 
 •— a Moham- 
 •ynagogue— a 
 idel— he was, 
 inpatient, in- 
 Bhensible self 
 fiadow. His 
 a short, hia 
 and no man 
 
 reverie, 
 tudy, as well 
 te people are 
 3ver stupen- 
 and to those 
 iving lesson, 
 it station, it 
 
 CHARACTER OF WASUINGTON. 61 
 
 n.— CHAEACTEE OP WASHINQTOlf . 
 
 (phi Lit I PS.) 
 
 Oeorge Washington, first President of the United States, was born In 1732 and 
 
 died In 1739. ' 
 
 Sir, it matters very little what immediate spot may have 
 been the birth-place of such a man as Washington. No 
 people can claim, no country can appropriate him. The 
 boon of Providence to the human race, his fame is eternity, 
 and his residence creation. Though it was the defeat of our 
 arms, and the disgrace of our policy, I almost bless the con- 
 vulsion in which he had his origin. If the heavens thun- 
 dued, and the earth rocked, yet, when the storm had passed, 
 how pure was the climate that it cleared! how bright, in the 
 brow of the firmament, was the planet which it revealed to us! 
 In the production of Washington it does really appear 
 as if Nature was endeavouring to improve upon herself, and 
 that all the virtues of the ancient world were but so many 
 studies preparatory to the patriot of the new. Individual 
 instances, no doubt, there were, splendid exemplifications of 
 some single qualification : Caesar was merciful, Scipio was 
 continent, Hannibal was patient ; but it was reserved for 
 Washington to blend them all in one, and, like the lovely 
 masterpiece of the Grecian artist, to exhibit, in one glow of 
 associated beauty, the pride of every model, and the perfec- 
 tion of every master. 
 
 As a general, he marshalled the peasant into a veteran, 
 and supplied, by discipline, the absence of experience ; as a 
 statesman, he enlarged the policy of the cabinet into the 
 most comprehensive system of general advantage; and such 
 was the wisdom of his views, and the philosophy of his 
 counsels, that, to the soldier and the statesman, he almost 
 added the character of the sage ! A conqueror, he was un- 
 tainted with the crime of blood ; a revolutionist, he was free 
 from any stain of treason,— for aggression commenced the 
 --.-i.„o„ „,(u iiiCT vOuniij uaiicu ijiiii Lu tno command. 
 Liberty unsheathed his sword, necessity stained, victory 
 returned it. 
 
 K I 
 
 i.: 
 
 '< ! 
 
 ill 
 
62 
 
 SCIENCE AND ART. 
 
 If he had paused here, history might have doubted what 
 station to assign him ; whether at the hoad of her citizens 
 or her soldiers, her heroes or her patriots. But the last 
 
 mTT^wT"' ^''' '^''''' ^'^^ ^^"^«'^«« «^1 hesitation. 
 Who, hke WashinKton, after having emancipated a henn- 
 
 £'!«;/?r. .f ' T"""' ^"^ P'^^*'"^^ the retirement cf 
 domestic life to the adoration of a land he might be almost 
 eaiu to have created ] "iuiooi- 
 
 in.— SCIENCE Am) AET. 
 
 (sir D. BREWSTER.) 
 Of Edinburgh, in the first year of lUs incumbency a. Princlp^ (iL-eO)! 
 
 In the study of natural philosophy, chemistry, and natural 
 history, a wide field of knowledge wiU be spread out before 
 you, in which every fact you observe, and eveiy truth you 
 learn, will surprise and delight you. Creations of boundless 
 extent, displaying unlimited power, matchless wisdom, and 
 overflowing beneficence, wiU at every step surround you. 
 Th« infinitely great and the infinitely little will compete for 
 your admiration ; and in contemplating the great scheme of 
 creation which these inquiries present to your minds, you 
 will not overlook the almost superhuman power by which it 
 has been developed. Fixed upon the pedestal of his native 
 earth, and with no other instrument but the eye and the 
 hand, the genius of man has penetrated the dark and distant 
 recesses of time and space. The finite has comprehended 
 the infinite. Ihe being of a day has pierced backwards into 
 primeval time, deciphering the subterranean monuments 
 and inditing its chronicle of countless ages. In the rugged 
 crust and shattered pavement of our globe he has detected 
 those gigantic forces by which our seas and continents have 
 changed places-by which our mountain ranges have emerged 
 rom the bed of the ocean-by which the gold, and the silver! 
 the coal and ttm iron ar,A r^^ v^^ i> i ., . ' 
 
 the hands of man as the materials of civilization-and by 
 
r ■? 
 
 SCIENCE AND AKT. 
 
 63 
 
 ibted whaf; 
 ler citizens 
 t tbu last 
 hesitation, 
 d a hcmi- 
 irement of 
 bo almost 
 
 Ilosophcrs of 
 imen U from 
 e University 
 159-60). 
 
 i natural 
 •ut before 
 ruth you 
 )oundless 
 iom, and 
 ind you. 
 npete for 
 cheme of 
 nds, you 
 which it 
 is native 
 and the 
 I distant 
 ehended 
 irds into 
 uments, 
 5 rugged 
 detected 
 its have 
 jmerged 
 e silver, 
 wii into 
 and by 
 
 which mighty cycles of animal and vegetable life have been 
 embalmed and entombed. 
 
 In your astronomical studies, the Earth on which you 
 dwell will stand forth in space a suspended ball, taking its 
 place as one of the smallest of the planets, and like thera 
 pursuing its appointed path—the arbiter of times and 
 seasons. Beyond our planetary system, now extcndcil, by 
 the discovery of Neptune, to three thousand millions of miles 
 from the sun, and throughout the vast expanse of the uni- 
 verse, the telescope will exhibit to you new suns and systems 
 of worlds, infinite in number and variety, sustaining, doubt- 
 less, myriads of living beings, and presenting new spheres 
 for the exercise of divine power and beneficence 
 
 The advances which have recently been made in the 
 mechanical and useful arts have already begun to influence 
 our social condition, and must afiect still more deeply our 
 systems of education. The knowledge which used to con- 
 stitute a scholar, and fit him for social and intellectual inter- 
 course, will not avail him under the present ascendency of 
 practical science. New and gigantic inventions mai-k almost 
 every passing year— the colossal tubular bridge, conveying 
 the monster train over an arm of the sea— the submarine 
 cable, carrying the pulse of speech beneath 2000 miles ot 
 ocean— the monster ship freighted with thousands of lives— 
 and the huge rifle gun throwing its fatal and unchristian 
 charge across miles of earth or of ocean. New arts, too, 
 useful and ornamental, have sprung up luxuriantly around 
 us. New powers of nature have been evoked, and man 
 communicates with man across seas and continents with 
 more certainty and speed than if ^le had been endowed with 
 the velocity of the race-horse, or provided with the pinions 
 of the eagle. Wherever we are, in short, art and science 
 surround us. They have given birth to new and lucrative 
 professions. Whatever we purpose to do, they help us. 
 In our houses they greet us with light and heat. When we 
 travel we find them at every stage on land, and at every 
 harbour on our shores. They stand beside our board by day, 
 and beside our couch by night. To our thoughts thev rive 
 (be speed of lightning, and to our time-pieces the punctuality 
 of the sun ; and though they cannot provide us with tha 
 
 ^Mi 
 
 :':» 
 
 : :'-■ 
 
 ■ -''■ 
 
 c^M 
 
 
 iil^B 
 
 ■ 
 
 fl 
 
ill! 
 
 
 :* I 
 
 64 
 
 MOUNTAINS. 
 
 boasted lever of Archimedea to move the earth, or indicate 
 the spot upon ^vhich we must stand could we do it tl 
 have put mto our hands tools of matchless power by w ich 
 we can study the remotest worlds ; and they have furnl od 
 22' T:J'''^^''\^^^ Pl"«^"^et by which wecan sZd So 
 depths of the earth, and count the cycles of its ondurancl 
 In his hour of presumption and ignorance man has tded to 
 do more than this; but though he was not permitted to 
 reach the heavens with his cloud-capt tower of stone and 
 has tried m vain to navigate the aerial ocean, it wa" given 
 h.m to ascend into the Empyrean by chains of th.tght 
 which no lightning could fuse, and no comet strilc an 
 though he has not been allowed to grasp with an arm of flesh 
 the products of other worlds, or tread upon the ^av m nt 
 of gigantic planets, he has been enabled to scan, with more 
 
 na.?°.r^^'\''-'''l!' mighty creations in th^ bosom of 
 space-to march intellectually over the mosaics of sidereal 
 sys ems, and to foUow the adventurous Phaethon in a ha o 
 which can never be overturned 
 
 IV.-M0UNTAIN8. 
 
 (WILLIAM nowiTT.) 
 
 William Howitt was born at Heanor in Derbyshire In 1795 He «r„i. .. . 
 poet, as a descriptlre writer, and as a novelist Mm HnwUH, k ' 
 
 dated with him In some of hi. publications. " *■*'" ""•'■ 
 
 iWt^twi!! ^^'^■^"' mountains! The variety which they 
 S X ^1°"'"' ^T°^ ^^ °"^ P'^°e<^ ^ere no small 
 advantage; the beauty which they spread out to our vision 
 in their woods and waters, their crags and slopes, thek 
 couds and atmospheric hues, were a splendid gif ; the 
 sublmiity which they pour into our deepest souls from their 
 rnajestic aspects,-the poetry which breathes from their 
 streams and dells, and airy heights, from the sweet abodes' 
 he garbs and manners of their inhabitants,-the songs and 
 egends which have awoke in them, were L proud heritage 
 
 to imaginative minds. T^vi. wTinf „v« oii *i,- , .f 
 
 thought comes, that without mountains the spirit of man 
 
 .m 
 
•t^. 
 
 MOUNTAINS. 
 
 or indicate 
 do it, they 
 r by which 
 3 furnished 
 Bound the 
 endurance, 
 as tried to 
 rmitted to 
 stone, and 
 waa given 
 f thought 
 rikf and 
 •m ol flesh 
 pavement 
 tvith more 
 bosom of 
 f sidereal 
 1 a chariot 
 
 66 
 
 excels an a 
 I been asso- 
 
 lich they 
 Qo small 
 tir vision 
 B3, their 
 ift; the 
 Dm their 
 m their 
 i abodes, 
 iDgs and 
 heritage 
 nun the 
 of man 
 
 must have bowed to the brutal and the base, and probably 
 have 8unl£ to the monotonous level of the unvaried plain? 
 
 When I turn my eyes upon tlie map of the world, and 
 behold how wonderfully the countries where our faith was 
 nurture<l, whore our liberties were generated, where our 
 philosophy and literature, the fountains of our intellectual 
 gra- and beauty, sprang up, were as distinctly walled out 
 by God's hand with mountain ramparts, from the eruptions 
 and interruptions of barbarism, as if pt ,k.; .special prayer 
 of the early fathers of man's destinies 1 am lu,o in an exalt- 
 ing admiration. Look at the bold bai it -» of Pa. itine ! See 
 how the infant liberties of Greece wte ..lielterf ! from the 
 vast tribes of the uncivilized north by th u^' .his of Hajmus 
 and Rhodope! Bohold how the Alr>& det.,nbe their magni- 
 ficent crescent, inclining their opposite extremities to the 
 Adriatic and Tyrrhene Seas, locking up Italy from the Gallic 
 and Teutonian hordes till the power and spirit of Rome had 
 reached their maturity, and she had opened the wide forest 
 of Europe to the light, spread far her laws and language, 
 and planted the seeds of many mighty nations I 
 
 Thanks to God for mountains! Their colossal firmness 
 seems almost to break the current of time itself. The geolo- 
 gist in them searches for traces of the earlier world ; and it 
 18 there, too, that man, resisting the revolutions of lower 
 roj,'ions, retains through innumerable years his habits and 
 his rights. While a multitude of changes has remoulded tJie 
 people of Europe-while languages, and laws, and dynasties 
 and creeds, have passed over it, like shadows over the land- 
 scape-the children of the Celt and the Goth, who fled to 
 the mountains a thousand years ago, are found there now 
 and show us, in face and figure, in language and garb, what 
 their fathers were ; show us a fine contrast with the modern 
 tribes dweUing below and around them ; and show us more- 
 over, how adverse is the spirit of the mountain to muta- 
 i>ility, and that there the fiery heart of Freedom is found for 
 ever. * 
 
 '1 < lia 
 
 (8C) 
 
66 
 
 INVENTIVE GENIUS AJ^J) LABOUH. 
 
 yiii 
 il II 
 
 "'It! 
 
 V.-INVENTIVE GENIUS AND LABOUB. 
 
 (klihu bursitt.) 
 
 EUhu Burrltt, an "American scholar. JournalUt, lecturer, and blacksmith," wna 
 born In Connecticut In 1811. His life has been one of extraordinary dill- 
 gence and perseverance. He Is best known in this country as the advocate 
 of a great " Peace League," or " League of Universal Brotherhood," having 
 for Its aim the prevention of war, and the arrangement of all International 
 disputes by quiut means. 
 
 The physical necemly of mental activity, in every practical 
 sense, confers upon the mind the power to determine our 
 stature, strength, and longevity ; to multiply our organs of 
 sense, and increase their capacity, in some cases, to thirty 
 million times their natural power. This capacity of the 
 mind is not a mere prospective possibility ; it is a fact, a 
 tried, practical fact ; and the human mind is more busy than 
 ever in extending this prerogative. 
 
 Let us look in upon man while engaged in the very act of 
 adding to his natural strength these gigantic faculties. See 
 him yonder, bonding over his stone mortar, and pounding, 
 and thumping, and sweating, to pulverize his flinty grain 
 into a more esculent form. He stops and looks a moment 
 into the precipitous torrent thundering down its rocky chan- 
 nel There 1 A thought has struck him. He begins to 
 whistle ; he whittles some, for he learned to whittle soon 
 after he learned to breathe. He gears together, some hori- 
 zontally, and others perpendicularly, a score of little wooden 
 wheels. He sets them agoing, and claps his hands in 
 triumph to see what they would do if a thousand times 
 larger. 
 
 Look at him again. How proudly he stands, with folded 
 arms, looking at the huge things that are working for him ! 
 He has made that wild, raging torrent as tame as his horse. 
 He has taught it to walk backward and forward. He has 
 given it hands, and put the crank of his big wheel into 
 them, and niade it turn his ponderous grindstone. What a 
 taskmaster ! Look at him again ! He is standing on the 
 ocean beac), watching the crested billows, as they move in 
 martial squadrons over the deep. He has conceived, or 
 
 I 
 
 »*<'.' 
 
iNVENitVE GENIUS AND LABOUR. 
 
 67 
 
 heard, that richer productions, more delicious fruits and 
 flowers, may be found on yonder invisible shore. In au 
 instant his mind sympathizes with the yearnings of his phy- 
 Bical nature. 
 
 See 1 there is a new thought in his eye. He remembers 
 how he first saddled the horse ; he now bits and saddles the 
 mountain wave. Not satisfied with taming this proud ele- 
 ment, he breaks another into his service. Remembering his 
 niiil-dam, he constructs a floating dam of canvas in the air, 
 to harness the winds to his ocean-waggon. Thus, with his 
 water-horse and air-horse harnessed in tandem, he drives 
 across the wilderness of waters with a team that would 
 make old Neptune hide his diminished head for envy, a^d 
 sink his clumsy chariot beneath the waves. 
 
 See now ! he wants something else ; his appetite for some- 
 thing better than he has, grows upon what he feeds on. 
 The fact is, he has plodded about in his one-horse waggon 
 till he is disgusted with his poor capacity of locomotion. 
 The wings of Mercury, modern eagles and paper kites, are 
 all too impracticable for models. He settles down upon the 
 persuasion that he can make a great iron horse, with 
 bones of steel and muscles of brass, that will run against 
 time with Mercury, or any other winged messenger of Jove 
 —the daring man ! 
 
 He brings out his huge leviathan hexapede upon the track. 
 How the giant creature struts forth from his stable, panting 
 to be gone ! His great heart is a furnace of glowing coals ; 
 his lymphatic blood is boiling in his veins ; the strength of 
 a thousand horses is nerving his iron sinews. But his mas- 
 ter reins him in with one finger, till the whole of some 
 western village, men, women, children, and half their horned 
 cattle, sheep, poultry, wheat, cheese, and potatoes, have been 
 stowed away in that long train of waggons he has harnessed 
 to his foaming steam-horse. 
 
 And now he shouts, interrogatively, "all eight?" and, 
 app'ying a burning goad to the huge creature, away it 
 thunders over the iron road, breathing forth fire and smoke 
 in its indignant haBio to outstrip the wind. More terrible 
 than the wsir-horse in Scripture, clothed with louder thun- 
 der, and emitting a cloud of flame and burning coals from 
 
 m. 
 
 ii-11 
 
 . f 
 
 i\ 
 
 iiii 
 
68 
 
 DUTY OF FORGIVENESS. 
 
 his iron nostrils, he dashes on through dark mountain passes, 
 over jutting precipices, and deep ravines. His tread shakea 
 the earth like a travelling Niagara, and the sound of his 
 chariot-wheels warns the people of distant towns that he is 
 coming. 
 
 'pi 
 
 VI.— DUTY OP FORGIVENESS. 
 
 (SAMUEL JOHNSON.) 
 
 Samuel Johnson, LL.D., was born at Llelifleld, Staffordshire, In 1709, and died 
 In 1784. Ilia name occupies a foremost place among the literary men who 
 (listinRuislied the eigliteenth century, 
 
 A WISE man will make haslj to forgive, because he knows 
 the true value of time, and will not suffer it to pass away in 
 unnecessary pain. He that willingly suffers the corrosions 
 of inveterate hatred, and gives up his days and nights to 
 the gloom of malice and perturbations of stratagem, cannot 
 surely be said to consult his ease. Resentment is a union 
 of sorrow with malignity, a combination of a passion which 
 all endeavour to avoid with a passion which all concur to 
 detest. The man who retires to meditate mischief, and to 
 exasperate his own rage ; whose thoughts are employed only 
 on means of distress and contrivances of ruin ; whose mind 
 never pauses from the remembrance of his own sufferings, 
 but to indulge some hope of enjoying the calamities of an- 
 other, may justly be numbered among the most miserable of 
 human beings, among those who are guilty without reward, 
 who have neither the gladness of prosperity nor the calm of 
 innocenca 
 
 Whoever considers the weakness both of himself and 
 others, will not long ant persuasives to forgiveness. We 
 know not to what degree of malignity any injury is to be 
 imputed ; or how much its guilt, if we were to inspect the 
 mind of him that committed it, would be extenuated by 
 mistake, precipitance, or negligence ; we cannot be certain 
 how much more we feel than was intended to be inflicted, 
 or how iiiuch we increase the mischief to ourselves by 
 voluntary aggravations. We may charge to design the 
 effects of accident; we may think the blow violent only 
 
DUTY OF FORGIVENESS. 
 
 because we have made ourselves delicate and tender; we 
 are on every side in danger of error and of guilt, which we 
 are certain to avoid only by speedy forgiveness. 
 
 From this pacific and harmless temper, thus propitious to 
 others and ourselves, to domestic tranquillity and to social 
 happiness, no man is witliheld but by pride, by the fear of 
 being insulted by his adversary, or despised by the world. 
 
 It may be laid down as an unfailing an ' universal axiom, 
 that " all pride is abject and mean." It is always an ignor- 
 ant, lazy, or cowardly acquiescence in a fals-e appearance of 
 excellence, and proceeds not from consciousness of our 
 attainments, but insensibility of our wants. 
 
 Nothing can be great which is not right. Nothing which 
 reason condemns can be suitable to the dignity of the human 
 mind. To be driven by external motives from the path 
 which our own heart approves, — to give way to anything but 
 conviction, — to sufier the opinion of others to rule our choice 
 or overpower our resolves, — is to submit tamely to the lowc.'st 
 and most ignominious slavery, and to resign the right of 
 directing our own lives. 
 
 The utmost excellence at which humanity can arrive, is a 
 constant and determined pursuit of virtue, without regard 
 to present dangers or advantages ; a continual reference of 
 eveiy action to the divine will ; an habitual appeal to ever- 
 lasting justice ; and an unvaried elevation of the intellectual 
 eye to the reward which perseverance only can obtain. But 
 that pride which many, who presume to lx)ast of generous 
 sentiments, allow to regulate their measures, has nothing 
 nobler in view than the approbation of men ; of beings whose 
 Biiperiority we are under no obligation to acknowledge, ard 
 who, when we have courted them with the utmost assiduity, 
 can confer no valuable or permanent reward ; of beinj^s who 
 ignorantly judge of what they do not understand, or partially 
 determine what they never have examined ; and whose sen- 
 tence is, therefore, of no weight till it has received the 
 ratification of our own conscience. 
 
 He that can descend to bribe suffrages like these at the 
 
 piich acclamations to withhold his attention from the com- 
 mands of the universal Sover-^ign, has little reason to con- 
 
 tn 
 
 iii 
 
I, •! 
 
 'I ;! 
 
 
 10 
 
 BUGEAUD AND AIJAB CUIEFTAIN. 
 
 ^atulate himself upon the greatness of his mind : whenever 
 he awakes to seriousness and reflection, he must become 
 despicable in his own eyes, and shrink with shame from the 
 remembrance of his cowardice and folly. 
 
 Of him that hopes to be forgiven, it is indispensably re- 
 quired that he forgive. It is, therefore, superfluous to urge 
 any other motive. On this great duty eternity is suspended ; 
 and to him that refuses to practise it, the throne of mercy 
 is inaccessible, and the Saviour of the world has been born 
 in vain. 
 
 VII.-MAXSHAL BUGEAUD AND ARAB CHIEFTAIN. 
 
 (W. S. LANDOR.) 
 
 Walter Savage Landor, poet and essayist, is a native of Warwickshire, and was 
 bom In 1775. He spends the sunset of his days la exile. 
 
 Bugeatid. Such is the chastisement the God of battles in 
 his justice and indignation has inflicted on you. Of seven 
 hundred refractory and rebellious, who took refuge in the 
 cavern, thirty, and thirty only, are alive; and of these 
 thirty there are four only who are capable of labour, or in- 
 deed of motion. Thy advanced age ought to have rendered 
 thee wiser, even if my proclamation, dictated from abovc 
 in the pure spirit of humrmity and fraternity, had not been 
 issued. Is thy tongue scorched, that thou listenest, and 
 etarest, and scowlest, without answering me ? What mercy 
 after this obstinacy can thy tribe expect 1 
 
 Arab. None; even if it lived. Nothing is now wanting 
 to complete the glory of France. Mothers ana children, in 
 Ler own land, hath she butchered on the scaffold ; mothers 
 and children in her own land hath she bound together and 
 cast into the deep ; mothers and children in her own land 
 hath she stabbed in the streets, in the prisons, in the temples. 
 Ferocity such as no tales record, no lover of the marveUous 
 and of the horrible could listen to or endure! In every 
 country she has repeated the same atrocities, unexampled 
 by the most sanguinary of the Infidels. To consume the 
 
 hftlnlfiRS Xfflfh firp fnr flip r>'i'"''o nf flirjprf fr.r.iY, v>/^^l..^•;,^« nri'l 
 
 persecution, was wanting to her glory : she has won it. Wc 
 
BUGEAUD AND ABAB CHIEFTAIN. 
 
 71 
 
 are not, indeed, her children ; we are not even her allies ; 
 this, and this alone, may, to her modesty, leave it incompleta 
 
 Bugcaud. Traitor ! I never ordered the conflagration. 
 
 Arab. Certainly thou didst not forbid it: and, when I 
 consider the falsehood of thy people, I disbelieve thy asser- 
 tion, even though thou hast not sworn it. 
 
 Bugeavd. Miscreant! disbelieve, doubt a moment the 
 word of a Frenchman ! 
 
 Arab. Was it not the word of a Frenchman that no con- 
 quest should be made of this country ? Was it not the word 
 of a Frenchman that when chastisement had been inflicted 
 on the Dey of Algiers, even the Algerines should be unmo- 
 lested ? Was it not the word of two kings, repeated by their 
 ministers to every nation round ? But we never were Al- 
 gerines, and never fought for them. Was it not the word 
 of a Frenchman which promised liberty and independence 
 to every nation upon earth? Of all who believed in it, is 
 there one with which it has not been broken 1 Perfidy and 
 insolence brought down on your nation the vcigeance of all 
 others. Simultaneously a just indignation burst forth from 
 every quarter of the earth against it, for there existed no 
 people within its reach or influence who had not suffered by 
 its deceptions. 
 
 Bugeaud. At least you Arabs have not been deceived by 
 us. I promised you the vengeance of heaven ; and it has 
 befallen you. 
 
 Arab. The storm hath swept our country, and still sweeps 
 it. But wait. The course of pestilence is from south to 
 north. The chastisement that overtook you thirty years 
 ago, turns back again to consummate its imperfect and 
 needful work. Impossible that the rulers of Europe, who- 
 ever or whatever they are, Should be so torpid to honour, 
 so deaf to humanity, as to suffer in the midst of them a 
 people so full of lies and treachery, so sportive in cruelty, so 
 insensible to shame. If they are, God's armory contains 
 heavier, and sharper, and surer instruments. A brave and 
 just man, inflexible, unconquerable, Abdel Kader, will never 
 abandon our cause. Every child of Islam, near and far, 
 roused by the conflagration in the cavern, wUl rush forward 
 to exterminate the heartless murderers. 
 
 '■■4 
 
 i l.<^l 
 
 
72 
 
 BUGKAUD AND A.RAD CUIEFTAIN. 
 
 li:^ 
 
 ii 
 
 Bugeaiid. A rrenchman liears no threat without resent- 
 ing it : his honour forbids hi n. 
 
 Arah. That honour which never has forbidden him to 
 break an engagement ur an oafcli: that honour which binds 
 him to remain and to devastat<i the country ho swore before 
 all nations lie would leave in peace : that honour which 
 impels him to burn our harvoiits, to seize <)ur cattle, to 
 murder our youths, to violate our >v .men. K-uope has long 
 experienced this honour : we Arabs have learned it perfectly 
 in much less time. 
 
 Bii^eaud. Guards ! seixe this mad chatterer. 
 
 Go, thief! assassin! traitor! blind grey-beard! kme 
 beggar ! 
 
 Arab, Ceaso "Jieic. Thou cui.st never make me beg for 
 bread, for water, ^r f. r life. My grey beard is from God : 
 my blindness and icUtieness are from thee. 
 
 Bugeand. Bego.u), ieptiie i Expect full justice ; no mercy. 
 The president of my military tribunal will read to thee 
 what is written. 
 
 Arab. Go; enter, and sing and whistle in the cavern, 
 where t}io bones of brave men are never to bleach, are never 
 to decay. Go, where the mother and infant are inseparable 
 for ever,— one mass of charcoal ; the breasts that gave life, 
 the lips that received it ; all, all ; save only where two arms, 
 in colour and hardness like corroded iron, cling round a 
 brittle stem, shrunken, warped, and where two heads are 
 calcined. Go; strike now; strike bravely: let thy sword 
 in its playfulness ring against them. What are they but 
 white stones, under an arch of black ; the work of thy 
 creation ! 
 
 Bugeaud. Singed porcupine ! thy quills ai-e blunted, and 
 stick only into thyself. 
 
 Arab. Is it not in the memory of our elders, and will it 
 not remain in the memory of all generations, that, when 
 four thousand of those who spoke our language and obeyed 
 our prophet, were promised peace and freedom on laying 
 down their arms, in the land of Syria, all, to a man, were 
 slain under the eyes of your leader ? Is it not notoriou; 
 that this perfidious and sanguinary wretch is the very ma. 
 whom, above all otliers, the best of you glory in imitatiii'. 
 
THE DELUGE. 
 
 73 
 
 kme 
 
 and whom you rejected only when fortune had forsaken 
 him 1 Is it then only that atrocious crimes are visible or 
 looked for in your country? Even this last massacre, no 
 doubt, will find defenders and admirers there ; but neither 
 in Africa, nor in Asia, nor in Europe, one. Many of you 
 will palliate it, many of yc^u will deny it ; for it is the custom 
 of your country to cover blood with lies, and lies with 
 
 blood. 
 Bugeaud. And, here and there, a sprinkling of ashes over 
 
 both, it seems. 
 Arab. Ending in merriment, as befits ye. But is it 
 
 ended ? 
 
 Bugeaud. Yes, yes, at least for thee, vile prowler, traitor, 
 fugitive, incendiary !— And thou, too, singed porcupine, canst 
 laugh ! 
 
 Arab. At thy threats, and stamps, and screams. Verily 
 our prophet did well and with far-sightedness, in forbidding 
 the human form and features to be graven or depicted,— if 
 such be human. Henceforward will monkeys and hyaiuas 
 abhor the resemblance and disclaim the relationship. 
 
 I ' 
 
 VIII.— THE DELUGE. 
 
 (THOMAS QDTHRIE, D.D.) 
 
 Thomas Guthrie, D.D., senior minister of St. John's Free Church, Edinburgh, 
 was born in Brediln, Forfarshire, in 1803. 
 
 Look, for example, on the catastrophe of the Deluge. And 
 let not our attention be so engrossed by its dread and awful 
 character, as to overlook all that preceded it, and see no- 
 thing but the flood and its devouring waters. 
 
 The waters rise till rivers swell into lakes, and lakes be- 
 come seas, and the sea stretches out her arms along fertile 
 plains to seize their flying population. Still the waters rise; 
 and now, mingled with beasts that terror has tamed, men 
 climb to the mountain tops, with the flood roaring at their 
 heels. Still the waters rise ; and now each summit stands 
 above them like a separate and sea-girt isle. Still the waters 
 rise ; and, crowding closer on the narrow spaces of lessening 
 
 if 
 
 m 
 
 |! n 
 
 l:iJ 
 
 ■*:3iV 
 
pf 
 
 74 
 
 THE DELUOK, 
 
 tin 
 
 hill-tops, men and beasts fight for standing room. Still the 
 thunders roar, and the lightnings flash, and the rains de- 
 scend, and the waters rise, till the last survivor of the 
 slirieking crowd is washed off, and the head of the highest 
 Alp goes down beneath the wave. Now the waters rise no 
 more. God's servant has done his work. He rests Irom hia 
 labours; and, all land drowned, all life destroyed, an awful 
 silence reigning and a shoreless ocean rolling. Death for 
 once has nothing to do, but ride in triumph on the top of 
 some giant billow, which, meeting no coast, no continent, no 
 Alp, no Andes against which to break, sweeps round and 
 round the world. 
 
 We stand agha«t at the scene; and as the corpses of 
 gentle children and sweet infants float by, we exclaim. 
 Hath God forgotten to be gracious? Hath he in anger 
 shut up his tender mercies ? No ; assuredly not. Where, 
 then, is his mercy 1 Look here ; behold this ark, as, steered 
 by an invisible hand, she comes dimly through the gloom. 
 Lonely ship on a shoreless ocean, she carries mercy on 
 board. She holds the costliest freight that ever sailed the 
 sea. The germs of the Church are there— the children of 
 the old world, and the fathers of the new. Suddenly, amid 
 the awful gloom, as she drifts over that dead and silent sea, 
 a grating noise is heard. Her keel has grounded on the top 
 of Ararat. The door is opened ; and beneath the sign of the 
 olive branch, her tenants come forth from their baptismal 
 burial, like life from the dead, or like souls which have 
 passed from a state of nature into the light and the liberty 
 of grace, or like the saints when they shall rise at the sum- 
 mons of the trumpet to behold a new heaven and a new 
 earth, and see the sign which these "grey fathers" hailed 
 encircling a head that was crowned with thorns. 
 
 Nor is this all. Our heavenly Father's character is dear 
 to us ; and therefore I must remind you that ere Mercy flew, 
 like the dove, to that welcome asylum, she had swept the 
 wide world with her wings. Were there but eight saved, 
 only eight? There were ti.«usands, millions sought. Nor 
 is it doing justice to God to forget how long a period of 
 patience, and preaching, and warning, and compassion pre- 
 ceded that dreadful Deluge. Long before the lightning 
 
TUE DELUGE. 
 
 75 
 
 flashed from angry heavens, or thunders rolled along dis- 
 solving bkies, or the clouds rained down death, or the solid 
 floor of this earth, under the prodigious agencies at work, 
 broke up, like the deck of a leakvjg ship, and the waters 
 rushed from below to meet the waters from above, and sink 
 a guilty world ; long before the time when the ark floated 
 away by town and tower, and those crowded hill-tops where 
 frantic groups were clustered, and amid prayers and curses, 
 and shrieks and shouts, hung out their signals of distress, 
 — very long before this, God had been calling an impenitent 
 world to repentance. Had they no warning in Noah's 
 preaching 1 Was there nothing to alarm their fears in the 
 sight of the ark as storey rose upon storey 1— not enough in 
 the very sound of those ceaseless hammers to waken all but 
 the dead 1 It was not till Mercy's arm grew weary, as she 
 rang the warning bell, that, to use the words of my text, 
 God poured out his fury upon them. I appeal to the story 
 of this awful judgment. True, for forty days it rained in- 
 cessantly, and for one hundred and fifty days more the 
 waters prevailed on the earth ; but while the period of God's 
 justice is reckoned by days, the period of his long-suffering 
 was drawn out into years. There was a truce of one hun- 
 dred and twenty years between the first stroke of the bell 
 and the first crash of the thunder. Noah grew grey preach- 
 ing repentance. The ark stood useless for years, a huge 
 laughing-stock for the scofifer's wit. Covered with the 
 marks of age, it covered its builders with the contempt ot 
 the world ; and many a bitter sneer had these men to bear, 
 as, pointing to the serene heavens above and an empty ark 
 below, the ungodly asked, Where is the promise of his com- 
 ing 1 Most patient God ! then, as now, thou wert alow to 
 punish, long-suffering and of great mercy. 
 
 ]f fix 
 
 M 
 
 I u 
 
 
 ;H 
 
 ■i 
 
I I 
 
 70 
 
 CICERO POK MILO. 
 
 SECTION IV.-ORATORY. 
 
 I.— CICEEO FOE Mi:0. 
 
 (MARCUS TULIilCS OIOKKO.) 
 
 Marcus Tulllus Cicero, the greatest of Roman orators, was born near Arpinum 
 In 106 B a jle was assassinated by the orders of Antony, In 43 b.o ' 
 
 P. Clodlus, a.).' T. Annlus MUo, were, in the year 63 b.c, candidates for public 
 offices, till former for the Prtetorshlp, and the latter for the Consulship 
 Each kept In his service a band of gladiators, who, entering into the Jealousies 
 whic, actuated tlieir masters, had (Sequent scuflBes in the streets of Roma 
 Finally , alilo unU Clodlus, with their follow, rs, met on the Appian Road, some 
 distttiico fi'om Rome, when a fight ensued, and Clodlus was slain. Milo was 
 accordin^ y accused, but went into banl.shment to Marseilles, to escape tlio 
 triiiL Tims Cicero's " speech " in hU defence was never delivered ; but after 
 the. exile of Milo, the .luthor recast it in the form in which it has been handed 
 down to ua. 
 
 My Lords,— That you may be able ;he more easily to deter- 
 mine upon that point before you, I shall beg tlie favour of 
 an attentive hearing, while, in a few words, I lay open the 
 whole affair. Clodius being determined, when created 
 praetor, to harass his country with every species of oppres- 
 sion, and finding the comitia had been delayed so long tlie 
 year before, that he could not hold tli'a office many months, 
 all on a sudden threw up his own year, and reserved him- 
 self to the next; not from any religious so iple, but that he 
 might have, as he said snself, • full, ei e year f(-r exer- 
 cising his prsetorship— that is, for overturning the common- 
 wealth. Being sensible he must be controlled and cramped 
 in the exercise of his pra^' .; ;i authority r.nder Iililo, . ho, 
 he plainly saw, would be chosen consul by che unanimous 
 consent of the Roman people, he joined the ca-ri-datea that 
 opposed Milo— but in such a nianner, tht lie overruled 
 them in everything, had the sole m, «cemei,t of the elec- 
 tion, and, as he used often to boae^ re 'I the comitia 
 upon his ovn shoulders. He ass. )led he tribes, lie 
 thrust hir;;self into thoir councils, and formed a new tribe uf 
 the most abandoned of the citizens. The more confusion 
 
 
CICERO FOR MII-O. 
 
 rr 
 
 and disturbance he made, the more Milo prevailed. Wlicn 
 this wretch, who was bent upon all manner cf wickedness, 
 saw that so brave a man, and his most inveterate enemy, 
 would certainly be consul— when he perceived this, not only 
 by the discourses, but by the votes of the Roman people, he 
 began to throw off all diajniise, and to declare openly that 
 Milo must be killed. He often intimated this in the Sen;ito, 
 and declared it expressly before the people ; insomuch, that 
 when Favonius, that brave man, asked hira what prospect 
 he ct)uld have of carrying out his furious designs while Milo 
 was alive, he replied, that, in three or four days at most, he 
 should be taken out of the way— which reply Favonius 
 immediately communicated to Cato. 
 
 In the meantime, as soon as Clodius knew— nor indeed 
 was thi-e any difficulty to come at the intelligence— that 
 Milo was obli,i,'ed by the 18th of January to be at Lanuvium, 
 where he was dictator, in order to nominate a priest— a 
 duty which the laws rendered necessary to be performed 
 every year; he went suddenly from Rome the day before, in 
 order, as it appears by the event, to waylay Milo in his own 
 groun : and this at a time when ho was obliged to leave a 
 tumultuous assembly, which he had summoned that very 
 day, whero 'us presence was necessary to carry (m his mad 
 designs- lUing he never would have done, if he had not 
 been desirous to ke the advantage of that particular time 
 and place for i trating his villany. But Milo, aftei 
 having stayed in tue S*^nate that day till the house had 
 broken up, went home, changed his clothes, waited a while, 
 as usual, till his wife had got ready to attend him, and then 
 set forward, about the time that Clodius, if he had proposed 
 to come back to Rome that day, might lia,ve returned. He 
 meets Clodius near his own estate, a little before sunset, 
 and is immediately attacked by a body of men, who throw 
 their darts at him from an eminence, and kill his coachman. 
 Upon which he threw off his cloak, leaped from his chariot, 
 and defended himself with great bravery. In the mean- 
 time, Clodius's attendants drawing their swords, some of 
 them ran back to the chariot in order to attack Milo in the 
 rear; wfiilst others, thinking that he was akeady killed, fell 
 upon his servants who were behind. These being resolute 
 
 'f<f 
 
 
 
 1 " 
 
 h»4 
 
 ;i 
 
78 
 
 CICERO FOR MILO. 
 
 m ' 
 
 and faithful to their master, were some of them slain, whilst 
 the rest, seeiug a warm engagement near the chariot, being 
 prevented from going to their master's assistance, hearing 
 besides from Clodius him If that Milo was killed, and be- 
 lieving it to be a fact, acted upon this occasion— I mention 
 it, not with a view to elude the accusation, but because it 
 Tvas the true state of the case— without the orders, without 
 the knowledge, without the presence of their master, as 
 every man would wish his own servants should act in the 
 like circumstances 
 
 The proper question then, is, not whether Clodius was 
 killed— for that we grant : but whether justly or uiy'ustly? 
 If it appear that Milo was the aggressor, we ask no favour; 
 but if Clodius, you will then acquit him of the crime that 
 has been laid to his charge. 
 
 Every circumstance, my lords, concurs to prove that it 
 was for Milo's interest Clodius should live; that, on the 
 contrary, Milo's death was a most desirable event for an- 
 swering the purposes of Clodius : that, on the one side, there 
 was a most implacable hatred; on the other, not the least : 
 that the one had been continually employing himself in acts 
 of violence ; the other, only in opposing them : that the life of 
 Milo was threatened, and his death publicly foretold by 
 Clodius, whereas nothing of that kind was ever heard from 
 Milo: that the day fixed for Milo's juurney was well known to 
 his adversary, while Milo knew not when Clodius was to re- 
 turn : that Milo's journey was necessary, but that of Clodius 
 rather the contrary : that the one openly declared his inten- 
 tion of leaving Rome that day, while the other concealed 
 his intention of returning : that Milo made no alteration in 
 his measures, but that Clodius feigned an excuse for altering 
 his : that, if Milo had designed to waylay Clodius, he would 
 have waited for him near the city till it was dark ; but that 
 Clodius, even if he had been under no apprehensions from 
 Milo, ought to have been afraid of coming to town so lato 
 at night. 
 
 Let us now consider whether the place where the en- 
 counter happened was most favourable to Milo or to 
 Clodius. But can there, my lords, be any room for doubt 
 or deliberation upon that? It was near the estate of 
 
OICBRO rOR HILO. 
 
 7» 
 
 Olodius, where at least a thousand able-bodied men were 
 employed in his mad schemes of buildinj?. Did Milo think 
 he should have an advantage by attacking him from ao 
 eminence 1 and did he, for this reason, pitch upon that spot 
 for the engagement 1 or was he not rather expected in that 
 place by his adversary, who hoped the situation would 
 favour his assault 1 The thing, my lords, speaks for itself, 
 which must be allowed to be of the greatest importance in 
 determining a question. Were the affair to be represented 
 only by painting, instead of being expressed by words, it 
 would even then clearly appear which was the traitor, and 
 which was free from all mischievous designs. When the 
 one was sitting in his chariot, muffled up in his cloak, and 
 his wife along with him ; which of these circumstances was 
 not a very great incumbrance ? — the dress, the chariot, or 
 the companion 1 How could he be worse equipped for an 
 engagement, when he was wrapped up in a cloak, embar- 
 rassed with a chariot, and almost fettered by his wifet 
 Observe the other now -in the first place, sallying out on a 
 sudden from his seat ; for what reason t In the evening ; 
 what urged him 1 Late; to what purpose, especially at that 
 season 1 He calls at Pompey's seat ; with what view ? 
 To see Pompey?— He knew he was at Allium. To see 
 his house 1 — He had been in it a thousand times. What, 
 then, could be the reason of this loitering and shifting 
 about 1— He wanted to be upon the spot when Milo came 
 
 up 
 
 What now remains, but to beseech and adjure you, my 
 
 lords, to extend that compassion to a brave man which he 
 disdains to implore ; but which I, even against his consent, 
 implore and earnestly entreat. Though you have not seen 
 him shed a single tear, while all are weeping around him — 
 though he har preserved the same steady countenance, the 
 same firmness of voice and language; do not, on this account, 
 withhold it from him. 
 
 On you — on you I call, ye heroes who have lost so much 
 blood in the service of your country ! To you, ye centurions, 
 ye soldiers, I appeal in this hour of d^.nger, — to the best of 
 men, and bravest of citizens I VyLIih you are looking on, 
 while you stand here with arms in your hands, and guard 
 
 y!tmni!r)tsrTst ifSi s ssi. T . 
 
80 
 
 PITT S REPLY TO WALPOLF. 
 
 this tribunal, shall virtue like this be expelled, exterminatod, 
 cast out with dishonour 1 By the immortal gods, I wish- 
 pardon me, my country! for I fear what I shall say, out 
 of a pious regard for Milo, may be deemed impiety against 
 thee— that Clodius not only lived, but were praetor, consul, 
 dictator, rather than be witness to such scene as this. Shall 
 this man, then, who was born to save his country, die any- 
 where but in his country t Shall he not, at least, die in the 
 service of his country 1 Will you retain the memorials of 
 his gallant soul, and deny his body a ^rave in Italy 1 Will 
 any person give his voice for banishing a man from this 
 city, whom every city on earth would be proud to receive 
 within its walls? Happy the country that shall receive 
 bim ! ungrateful this if it shall banish him ! wretched, if it 
 should lose him ! But I must conclude : my tears will not 
 allow mo to proceed, and Milo forbids tears to be employed 
 in his defence. You, my lords, I beseech and adjure, that, 
 in your decision, you would dare to act as you think. Trust 
 me, your fortitude, your justice, your fidelity, will more 
 especially be approved of by him, who, in his choice of 
 judges, has raised to the bench the bravest, the wisest, and 
 the best of men. 
 
 II.- 
 
 -PITT'8 REPLY TO WALPOIE. 
 
 (WILLIAM PUT.) 
 
 Sir Robert Wiilpolp, ftflcrwnrds Earl of Orford, was bom In 1676, and died in 
 1746. William I'itt, Karl of Chatham, was born in 1708, and diei' in 1778. 
 Tills quarrel occuned In 1740 
 
 Sir,— The atrocious crime of being a young man, which the 
 honourable gentleman has, with such spirit and decency, 
 charged upon me, I shall neither attempt to palliate nor 
 deny; but content myself with wishing, that I may be one 
 of those whose follies may cease with their youth, and not 
 of that number who are ignorant in spite of experience. 
 Whether youth can be imputed to any man as a reproach, I 
 will not, sir, assume the province of determining ; but surely 
 age may become justly contemptible, if the opportunities 
 which it brings have passed away without improvement, 
 and vice appears to prevail, when the passions have sub- 
 
 "fKLi 
 
put's reply to walpole. 
 
 81 
 
 
 Bided. The wretch who, after having seen tlie consequences 
 of a thousand errors, continues still to blunder, and whose 
 age has only added obstinacy to stupidity, is surely the 
 object either of abhorrence or contempt, and deserves not 
 that his grey hairs should secure him from insult. Much 
 more sir, is he to be abhorred, who, as he has advanced in 
 age, has receded from virtue, and become more wicked with 
 less temptation ; who prostitutes himself for money which 
 he cannot enjoy, and spends the remains of his life in the 
 rum of his country. But youth, sir, is not my only crime • 
 I have been accused of acting a theatrical part. A theatrical 
 part may either imply some peculiarities of gesture, or a 
 dissimulation of my real sentiments, and an adoption of the 
 oi)inions and language of another man. 
 
 In the 6rst sense, sir, the charge is too trifling to be con- 
 futed; and deserves only to be mentioned that it may be 
 despised. I am at liberty, like every other man, to use my 
 own language; and though, perhaps, I may have some 
 ambition to please this gentleman, I shall not lay myself 
 under any restraint, nor very solicitously copy his diction or 
 his mien, however matured by age, or mode 'ed by exper- 
 ience. But, if any man shrJl, by charging me with theatri- 
 cal behaviour, imply that I utter any sentiments but my 
 own, I shall treat hiru as a calumniator and a villain ;— nor 
 shaU any protection shelter him from the treatment he 
 deserves. I shall, on such an occasion, without scruple, 
 trample upon all those forms with wliich wsalth and dignity 
 intrer.c'i themselves; nor shall anything but age restrain 
 my reatntment,— age, which always brings one privilege, that 
 of being insolent and supercilious without punishment. But 
 with regard, sir, to those whom I have offended, I am of 
 opinion, that if I had acted a borrowed part, I should have 
 avoided their censure : the heat that offended them, is the 
 ardour of conviction, and that zeal for the service of my 
 country, which neither hope nor fear shall influence me to 
 suppress. I will not sit unconcerned while my liberty is 
 invaded, nor look in silence upon public robbery. I will 
 exert my endeavours, at whatever hazard, to repel the 
 aggressor, and drag the thief to justice, wlioever may proteet 
 iiira in hia villany, and whoever may partake of Ida plunder 
 
 St I 
 
 L 'u.j 
 ■4 '«" 
 
1 ;i . 
 
 i 
 
 4' 
 
 : ' 1: 
 
 ll 
 
 
 ■ "^f ; 
 
 8S 
 
 p. H£:VRY OH BRITISH RULE IN AMSRIO. 
 
 in.— MR. PATRICK HEifRY ON BRITISH RULE IN AMEMCA." 
 
 (hbhrt.) 
 
 Mr. Henry was one of the American patriots who fought the battle of Indepeiid- 
 ence, which ended, in 1784, by the ratification of the treaty between Grea^ 
 Uiitain and the United States. 
 
 Mr. President,— It is natural to man to indulge in the 
 illusions of hope. We are apt to shut our eyes against a 
 painful truth, and listen to the song of that Syren, till she 
 transforms us to beasts. Is this the part of wise men, 
 engaged in a great and arduous struggle for liberty 1 Are 
 we disposed to be of the number of those who having eyes, 
 see not, and having ears, hear not, the things which so nearly 
 concern our temporal salvation? For my part, whatever 
 anguish of spirit it may cost, I am willing to know the whole 
 truth ; to know the worst, and to provide for it. 
 
 I have but one lamp by which my feet are guided ; and 
 that ■ s the lamp of experience. I know of no way of j udging 
 of the future, but by the past Axid fudging by the past, 
 I wish to know what the"' •■-s \-p,f^a h. the conduct of the 
 British ministry for the last ' '■ ..ira. ■ j justify those hopes 
 with which gentlemen have bet;ii i-' itaea to solace themselves 
 and the House ? Is it that insidious smile with which our 
 petition has been lately received 1 Trust it not, sir ; it will 
 prove a snare to your feet. Suffer not yourselves to be 
 " betrayed with a kiss !" A.sk yourselves, how this gracious 
 reception of our petition comports with those warlike pre- 
 parations which cover our waters and darken our land? 
 Are fleets and armies necessary to a work of love and 
 reconciliation ? Have we shown ourselves so unwilling to 
 be reconciled, that force must be called in to win back oui' 
 love 1 Let us not deceive ourselves, sir. These are the im- 
 plements of war and subjugation ; the last arguments to 
 which kings resort. 
 
 I ask gentlemen, sir, what means this martial array, if its 
 purpose be not to force us to submission ? Can gentlemen 
 assign any other posRible motive for it 1 Has Great Britain 
 any enemy id this quarter of the world, to call for all this 
 
p. HENRY ON BRITISH RULE IN AMERICA. 
 
 83 
 
 accumulation of navies and armies ? No, sir, she has none. 
 They are meant for us : they can be meant for no other. 
 They are sent over to bind and to rivet upon us those chains 
 which the British ministry have been so long forging. And 
 what have we to oppose to them 1 Shall we try argument] 
 Sir, we have been trying that for the last ten years. Have 
 we anything new to offer upon the subject ? Nothing. We 
 have held the subject up in every light of which it is capable ; 
 but it has been all in vain. Shall we resort to entreaty and 
 humble supplication 1 What terms shall we find which have 
 not been already exhausted 1 Let us not, I beseech you, sir, 
 deceive ourselves longer. Sir, we have done everj-^thing that 
 could be done, to avert the storm which is now coming on. 
 We have petitioned, we have remonstrated, we have suppli- 
 cated, we have prostrated ourselves before the throne, and 
 have implored its interposition to arrest the tyrannical hands 
 of the ministry and parliament. Our petitions have been 
 slighted ; our remonstrances have produced additional 
 violence and insult ; our supplications have been disregarded, 
 and we have been spurned with contempt from the foot of 
 the throne. In vain, after these things, may we indulge the 
 fond hope of peace and reconciliation. There is no longer 
 any room for hope. If we wish to be free ; if we mean to 
 preserve inviolate those inestimable privileges for which we 
 have been so long contending ; if we mean not basely to 
 abandon the noble struggle in which we have been so long 
 engaged, and which we have pledged ourselves never to 
 abandon until the glorious object of our contest shall be 
 obtained— we must fight ! I repeat it, sir — we must fight ! An 
 appeal to arms, and to the God of hosts, is all that is left 
 us ! 
 
 They tell us, sir, that we are weak—" unable to cope with 
 so formidable an adversar3^" But when shall we be stronger? 
 Will it be the next week, or the next year? Will it be 
 when we are totally disarmed, and when a British guard 
 shall be stationed in every house. Shall we gather strength 
 by irresolution and inaction ? Shall we acquire the means 
 of effectual resistance, by lying supinely on our backs, and 
 hugging the delusive phantom of hope, until our enemies 
 have bound us hand and foot ? Sir, we are not weak, if we 
 
84 
 
 BURKES PANEGYRIC ON SHERIDAN. 
 
 make a proper use of those means which the God of nature 
 hath placed in our power. Three millions of people, armed 
 in the holy cause of liberty, and in such a country as that 
 which we possess, are invincible by any force which our 
 enemy can send against us. Besides, sir, we shall not fight 
 our battles alone. There is a just Power who presides over 
 the destinies of nations, and who will raise up friends to 
 fight our battles for us. The battle, sir, is not to the strong 
 alone ; it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides, 
 sir, we have no election. If we were base enough to desire 
 it, it is now too late to retire from the contest. There is no 
 retreat, but in submission and slavery. Our chains are 
 forged. Their clanking may be heard on the plains of 
 Boston. The war is inevitable, and let it come ! I repeat 
 it, sir— let it come ! It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. 
 Gentlemen may cry "Peace ! peace!" but there is no peace! 
 The war is actually begim! The next gale that sweeps 
 from the north will bring to our ears the clash of resounding 
 arms ! Our brethren are already in the field ! Why stand 
 we here idle? What is it that gentlemen wish? What 
 would they have ? Is life so doar, or peace so sweet, as to 
 be purchased at the price of chains and slavery ? Forbid it 
 Almighty Power ! I know not what course others may 
 take ; but as for me, give me liberty, or give me death ! 
 
 IV.— BURKE'S PANEGYRIC ON SHERIDAN. 
 
 (burkb.) 
 
 Edmund Bnrke, the great writer, orator, and statesman, was born In Dublin In 
 
 1730, and died 1797. 
 Richard Bilnsley Sheildan was born In Dublin in 1751. After a brilliant career 
 
 as a dramatist, as a wit, and as a statesman, he spent tlie latter years of lili 
 
 life In difficulties and sorrow. Died 1816. 
 
 He has this day surprised the thousands who hung with 
 rapture on his accents, by such an array of talents, such au 
 exhibition of capacity, such a display of powers, as are ;!n- 
 paralleled in the annals of oratory ; a display that reflected 
 
 tUn 1,;™V,.-.«*. l,,,— i-_* fiy i,,_i.„- _. 1 1. 
 iic t;:^iic3i, ;iv.ti;;ui uii ii;;:i.JL;i lUStri; UpUU ILICCFS — reUOTta 
 
 upon parliament—glory upon the country. Of all speciea 
 
BUKKE 8 PANEGYRIC ON MARIA ANTOINETTE. 
 
 88 
 
 of rhetoric, of every kind of eloquence that has been wit- 
 nessed or recorded, either in ancient or modern times ; what- 
 ever the acuteness of the bar, the dignity of the senate, the 
 solidity of the judgment-seat, and the sacred morality of tho 
 pulpit, have hitherto furnished ; — nothing has equalled what 
 we have this day heard. No holy seer of religion, no states- 
 man, no orator, no man of any literary description whatever, 
 has come up, in the one instance, to the pure sentiments of 
 morality ; or, in the other, to that variety of knowledge, force 
 of imagination, propriety and vivacity of allusion, beauty and 
 elegance of diction, strength and copiousness of style, pathos 
 and sublimity of conception, to which we this day listened 
 with ardour and admiration. From poetry up to eloquence, 
 there is not a species of composition, of which a complete 
 and perfect specimen might not, from that single speech, be 
 culled and collected. 
 
 i 
 
 V I 
 
 i 
 
 ' 
 
 v.— BURKE'S PANEGYRIC ON MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 (burkb.) 
 
 It is now sixteen or seventeen years since I saw the Queen 
 of France, then the dauphiness, at Versailles ; and surely 
 never lighted on this orb, which she hardly seemed to touch, 
 a more delightful vision. I saw her just above the horizon, 
 decorating and cheering the elevated sphere she just began 
 to move in, — glittering like the morning star, full of life, 
 and splendour, and joy. Oh, what a revolution ! and what 
 a heart must I have to contemplate, without emotion, that 
 elevation and that fall ! Little did I dream when she addud 
 titles of veneration to those of enthusiastic, distant, respect- 
 ful lovo, that she should ever be obliged to carry the sliarp 
 antidote against disgrace, concealed in that bosom ; little 
 did I dream that I eliould have lived to see such disasters 
 fftllen upon her in a nation of gallant men, in a nation of 
 men of honour and of cavaliers. I thought ten thousand 
 Bwords must liave leaped from their scabbards to avenge 
 
 even a look that threatened 1 
 
 it;r v.i 
 
 th insult. But the a 
 
 chivalry is gone. That of sophisterB, economists, and calcu- 
 
 -"w^S 
 
 aum 
 
r 
 
 ii 
 
 86 
 
 QUINCY AD\MS ON 
 
 latora, han Bucceeded; and the glory of Europe is extinguished 
 for ever. Never, never more shall we behold that generous 
 loyalty to rank and sex, that proud submission, that digni- 
 fied obedience, that subordination of the heart, which kept 
 alive, even in servitude itself, the spirit of an exalted free- 
 dom. The unbought grace of life, ♦^^he cheap defence of 
 nations, the nurse of manly sentiment and heroic enterprise 
 is gone ! It is gone, that sensibility of principle, that 
 'chastity of honour, which felt a stain like a wound, which 
 inspirf d courage whilst it mitigated ferocity; which ennobled 
 whatever it touched, and under which, vice itself lost half 
 its evil, by losing all its grossnesa. 
 
 VI.— THE SWOED OF WASHINGTON AlTD THE STAFF 
 OF FRANKLIN. 
 
 (JOHN (IVISOJ ADAMS.) 
 
 ^••Qulncy Adams, son of John Adams, second President of the United States, 
 wim born at Boston in 1769. He himself became Proe.dent of the United 
 States in 1826. Died 1S48. 
 
 Georse Washington, born 1732; died 1799. Benjamin Franklin, bom 1706: 
 died 1790. 
 
 The Sword of Washington/ tlie Staff of Franklin f 
 sir, what as8fx;iation8 are linked in adamant with these 
 names ! Washift^n, whose sword was never drawn but in 
 the cause of his country, and never sheathed when wieldtid 
 in his countr/» cause ! Franklin, the philosopher of the 
 thunderbolt, the printing-press, and the ploughshare! 
 What names are these in the scanty catalog\M» of the bene- 
 factors of human kind ! Washington and Franklin / 
 What other two men, whose lives belong to the eighteenth 
 century of Christendom, have left a deeper impresaiou of 
 themselves upon the age in which they lived, and upon all 
 after time ! 
 
 Washington, the warrior and the legislator ! In war, 
 contending by the wager of battle for the independence of 
 his </>untry, and for the freedom of the human race, — ever 
 mani;esting, amid its horrors, by precept and by example, 
 uic revcfeBee xov tne .aws of peace, ana far tlie tenderest 
 sympathies of humanity; in pearsp, goothing the ferocious 
 
SWORD OF WASHINGTON AND STAFF OF FRANKLIN. 87 
 
 (Spirit of discord among his own countrymen into harmony 
 and union, and giving to that very sword, now presented to 
 his country, a charm more potent than that attributed, in 
 ancient times, to the lyre of Orpheus. 
 
 Franklin ! the mechanic of his own fortune ; teaching 
 in early youth, under the shackles of indigence, the way to 
 wealth, and, in the shade of obscurity, the path to great- 
 ness ; in the maturity of manhood, disarming the thunder of 
 its terrors, the lightning of its fatal blast, and wresting from 
 the tyrant's hand the still more alflictive sceptre of oppres- 
 sion : while descending into the vale of years, traversing the 
 Atlantic Ocean, braving, in the dead of winter, the battle 
 and the breeze, bearing in his hand the Charter of Indepen- 
 dence which he had contributed to form, and tendering from 
 the self-created nation to the mightiest monarchs of Europe, 
 the olive-branch of peace, the mercurial wand of commerce, 
 and the amulet of protection and safety to the man of peace, 
 on the pathless ocean, from the inexorable cruelty and mer- 
 ciless rapacity of war. 
 
 And finally, in the last stage of life, with fourscore win- 
 ters upon his head, under the torture of an incurable dis- 
 ease, returning to his native land, closing his days as the 
 chief magistrate of his adopted commonwealth, after contri- 
 buting by his counsels, under the presidency of Washington, 
 and recording his name, under the sanction of devout prayer, 
 invoked by him to God, to that Constitution under the 
 authority of which we are here assembled, as the repre- 
 sentatives of the North American p^eople, to receive, in their 
 name and for them, these venerable relics of the wise, the 
 valiant, and the good founders of our great confederated re- 
 public,— these sacred symbols of our golden age. May they 
 be deposited among the archives of our government ! And 
 may eveiy American who shall hereafter behold them, 
 ejaculate a mingled ofi'ering of praise to that Supreme Ruler 
 of the Universe, by whose tender mercies our Union has 
 been hitherto preserved, through all the vicissitudes and re- 
 volutions of this turbulent world ; and of prayer for the con- 
 tinuance of these blessings, by the dispensations of Provi- 
 dence, to our beloved country, from age to " 
 
 »h»ll be no more ! 
 
 f t<' Hi 
 
 
 fill Hum 
 
 fflj 
 
f'* 
 
 88 
 
 8HEIL IN REPLY TO LYNDHUR8T. 
 
 
 7II.-RICHARD LAIOR SHEIL'S EEPLY TO LORD LTNDHURST. 
 
 (SUEIL.) 
 
 Mr. Shell was a native of Ireland. He dlstlnfculslied httnself In early Hfe as a 
 writer of dramas. But It was In the political arena that he gained his brighter 
 laurels. He was for some time Master of the Mint, and afterwards British 
 Minister at Florence, where he died in 1851. 
 
 The venerable Lord Lyndhurst Is of an Irish family, but was bom In Boston, 
 United States of America, In 1772. His father was a i)alnter. Ho has fre- 
 qui-ntly held office In the government, aiid in 1827 became Lord Chancellor 
 of England. 
 
 The Duke of Wellington is not, I am inclined to believe, a 
 limn of excitable temperament. His mind is of a cast too 
 martial to be easily moved ; but, notwithstanding his habitual 
 inflexibility, I cannot help thinking, that, when he heard his 
 countrymen (for we are his countrymen), designated by a 
 phrase as offensive as the abundant vocabulary of his eloquent 
 confederate could supply— I cannot help thinking that he 
 ought to have recollected the many fields of fight in which 
 we have been contributors to his renown. Yes, " the battles, 
 sieges, fortunes," that lie has passed, ought to have brought 
 back upon him— he ought to have remembered— that, from 
 the earliest achievement in which he displayed that military 
 genius which has placed him foremost in the annals of 
 modern warfare, down to that last and surpassing combat, 
 which has made his name imperishable— from Assaye to 
 Waterloo— the Irish soldiers, with whom our armies are 
 filled, were the inseparable auxiliaries to the glory with 
 which his unparalleled successes hsive been crowned. Whose 
 were the athletic arms that drove your bayonets at Vimiera 
 through those phalanxes that never reeled in the shock of 
 war before? What desperate valour climbed the steeps and 
 fillea the moats of Badajos? All— all his victories skiiild 
 have rushed and crowded back upon his memory :— Vimiera, 
 Badajos, Salamanca, Albuera, Toulouse, and last of all, the 
 greatest ! Tell me, for you were there,— I apjioal to the gal- 
 lant soldier before me,* from whoso t>pinions 1 differ, but who 
 
 * i'ii Urniy Hanllnge. 
 
 
CIJRRAN ON FREEDOM. 
 
 99 
 
 bears, I know, a generous heart , ^n intrepid breast; tell 
 me, for you must needs remember, — on that day, when tho 
 destinies of mankind were trembling in the balance — while 
 death fell in showers upon them — when the artillery of 
 France, levelled with a precision of the most deadly science, 
 played upon them — when her legions, incited by the voice, 
 and inspired by the example, of their mighty leader, rushed 
 again and again to the onset — tell me, if, for an instant, 
 when to hesitate for that instant was to be lost, the "aliens" 
 blenched? And when at length the moment for the last 
 and decisive movement had arrived, and the valour which 
 had so long been wisely checked was at length let loose — 
 when with words familiar but immortal, the great captain 
 exclaimed, "Up, lads, and at them!" — tell me, if Ireland 
 with less heroic valour than the natives of your own glorious 
 isle precipitated herself upon the foe 1 The blood of England, 
 of Scotland, and of Ireland, flowed in the same stream— on 
 the same field. When the still morning dawned, their dead 
 lay cold and stark together — in the same deep pit their 
 bodies were deposited; — the green corn of spring is now 
 breaking from their commingled dust— the dew falls from 
 heaven upon their union in the grave. Partakers in every 
 peril —in the glory shall M'e not be permitted to participate 1 
 and shall we be told as a requital, that we are estranged 
 from the noble country for whose salvation our life-blood 
 was poured out 1 
 
 'i I 
 
 viii.-cujRRAn on freedom. 
 
 (JOHN PHILPOX CCRRAN.) 
 
 John riiilpot Curran, the celebilited banister and wit, was bom near Cork in 
 1760, and died in 1817. 
 
 I PUT it to your oaths :— do you think that a blessing of that 
 kind — that a victory obtained by justice over bigotry and 
 oppression—should have a stigma cast upon it, by an igno- 
 minious s(>ntcnce upon men bold and honest enough to pro- 
 ])06e that measure 1 — to propose the redeeming of religion 
 troni the abuROM of the Church, tlio rcclaimingoftliroe millions 
 of men ft'om bondagr-, and givinjj libeity to all who had a 
 
r 
 
 90 POX ON SUSPENSION OF HABEAS CORPUS ACT. 
 
 right to demand it '/—giving, I say, in the so much censured 
 words of this paper, giving " Universal Emancipation !" I 
 speak in the spirit of the British law, which makes liberty 
 commensurate with, and inseparable from British soil ; which 
 proclaims, even to the stranger uad sojourner, the moment 
 he sets his foot upon British earth, that the ground on which 
 he treads is holy, and consecrated by the genius of Universal 
 Emancipation. No matter in what language his doom may 
 have been pronounced ; no matter what complexion, incom- 
 patible with freedom, an Indian or an African sun may 
 have burnt upon him; no matter in what disastrous battle 
 his liberty may have been cloven down; no matter with 
 what solemnities he may have been devoted upon the altar 
 of skvery ;— the first moment he touches the sacred soil of 
 Britain, the altar and the god sink together in the dust ; his 
 soul walks abroad in her own majesty ; his body swells 
 beyond the measure of the chains that burst from around 
 him; and he stands— redeemed, regenerated, and disin- 
 thralled, by the irresistible genius of " Universal Emancipa- 
 tion." 
 
 II 
 
 I 
 
 IX.-THE SUBFmHixm OP THE HABEAS CORPUS ACT. 
 
 (O. J. FOX.) 
 
 The night Hononrable Charles James Fox was third son of the Right Honour- 
 able Henry Fox (aft. rwards Lord Holland of Foxley), and of Lady GeorRlana 
 Caroline, eldest daughter of Charles, second Duke of Richmond. He wna 
 born in 1749, and died In 1806,— the same year which proved fatal to his great 
 rival, William Pitt. 
 
 The Habeas Corpm Act was passed in the relpm of Charles II., 1679. It provldet 
 that no British subject can be kept In prison beyond a certain period, wlth- 
 ouv^ a public examination of the charges brought against him. It has been 
 occas-onally snspcnded. In cases of extreme emergency ; but then only by the 
 consent of Parli.iment On the occasion referred to In the following speech 
 (1 1 94) Mr. Pitt proposed its suspension in consequence of a message fVom tlie 
 King. 
 
 Against whom, I would ask, is the thunder of government 
 levelled] Is it against men of influence? No. Such a 
 convention* could have no influence, and it would be ridi- 
 culous in government to stop them. The Constitution has 
 too many admirers, has too many defenders, to have anv 
 
 • Certain societies who designated themselves "The British Convention." 
 
FOX ON SUSPENSION OF UABKA8 CORPUS ACT. 
 
 91 
 
 
 fears from the attempts of such men. But, if government 
 did really believe that they meant to form a govorument of 
 themselves, could they be so mad, so absurd, as to suppose 
 that they would be joined by any body sufficiently numerous 
 to create any serious alarm ? Surely not. For my part, I 
 solemnly believe that if a hundred m<'n were to assemble 
 together, and presume to dictate laws to tho rest of the com- 
 munity, there could not bo found another hundred who 
 would be willing to join them. Thi-^ Constitution ha, too 
 many dofonders, too many well-wishers, to fear an; h 
 paltry attempts to overturn it. But, suppose that this con- 
 vention assembled by Mr. F irdy and Mr. Adams entertain 
 the views ascribed to them, woui 1 then say that the mea- 
 sure now proposed is of infinitely greater mischief to the 
 people than that which it is proposed to remedy. Is the 
 House aware of the extent of this measure 1 It is no le.ss 
 than giving to the executive authority absolute power over 
 the personal liberty of every individual in the kingdom. It 
 maybe said that ministers will not abuse that power. I 
 must, for my own part, declare, that I do not feel very com- 
 fortable under that reflection. Every man who talks freely, 
 every man who detests— as I do from my heart— this war, 
 might be, and would be, in the hands and at the mercy of 
 ministers. Living under such a government, and being sub- 
 ject to insurrection ;— comparing the two evils, I confess I 
 think the evil you are pretending to remedy is less than the 
 one you are going to inflict by the remedy itself We are 
 going to give up the very best part of our Constitution ; and 
 that which every man is entitled to do, and which I am now 
 doing— delivering the sentiments of my heart upon the 
 aflairs of government, for the benefit of the public— would 
 be at an end at once. If such is to be the case, might I 
 not then say, that there is an end of the Constitution oi 
 England ? 
 
 But, is there any instance, on such an occasion, of such a 
 measure 1 Such a measure had been adopted in the reign 
 of King William. Was that similar to the present reign 1 
 The same measure had been adopted in the time of the re- 
 bellion in l7lo, and again in 1745. Were the circumstances 
 then similar to the present? At fhnt time tlitre was an 
 
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 FOX ON SUSPENSION OF HABEAS CORPUS ACT. 
 
 army in the kingdom in favour of a popish prince, chiiming 
 a right to the throne ; and that, too, if we are to credit re- 
 port, at a time when tlie people were a good deal divided in 
 opinion as to the propriety of the succession of the House 
 of Hanover. Is there any such prince now 1 Are there 
 any such circumstances now ? Nothing like it. Here we 
 Bee a number of individuals, without arms, without means 
 of any kind whatever, moving for a reform in Parliament. 
 Such are the present circumstances ; and I must say that 
 the House would betray its duty to the Constitution, if it 
 should agree to the present measure. Having said thus 
 much, I have but one thing more to submit. I am exceed- 
 ingly surprised at the precipitation with which the business 
 is brought forward. I conceive tliat a few days could make 
 no difference, and that there could be no objection to a call 
 of the House on a question of such magnitude. Is the 
 danger so imminent, that a nu: :ber of members must be 
 deprived of the privilege of delivering their sentiments upon 
 so alarming an exigence ? Could one fortnight make such 
 a difference 1 Is the danger so great as to exclude all 
 possibility of deliberation, and compel the House to run 
 headlong into the snare which the timidity or temerity of 
 the people has prepared for them t For my part, detesting 
 equally the endeavour to intimidate as the endeavour to 
 enslave, I feel it my duty to oppose the leave for bringing 
 in the Bill. I see that a fancied terror has intruded itself 
 upon the faculties of several members, and that they are 
 prepared to sacrifice their duty to notions of supposed ex- 
 l)ediency and groundless alarm. Having an invincible ob- 
 jection to every species of delusion, I, for one, will enter my 
 decided protest against the proceedings about to be adopted. 
 This measure appears before me in so dreadful a point of 
 view, that I should consider myself as betraying my con- 
 stituents and the public, if I did not oi>pose it in every stage. 
 It is a measure that would overturn the very corner-stone of 
 the Constitution, and surrender to ministers the personal 
 freedom of every man in the kingdom. 
 
WEB3TKR ON SLAVERY. 
 
 93 
 
 X.- WEBSTER ON SLAVERY IN THE UNITED STATES. 
 
 (DANIEL WEBSTER.) 
 
 Daniel Webster, one of the most distinguished stntesmcn of the Ame.Icnn 
 Keimblic, was born in 1782, an.I tlii-d in 1852. 
 
 The United States are not wholly free from tlie contamina- 
 tion of a traffic at which every feeling of humanity must for 
 ever revolt— I mean, the African slave trade. Neither public 
 sentiment nor the law has hitherto been able entirely to 
 put an end to this odious and abominable trade. At the 
 moment when God in his mercy has blessed the Christian 
 world with a universal peace, there is reason to fear, that, 
 to the disgrace of the Christian name and character, new 
 efforts are making for the extension of this trade, by subjects 
 and citizens of Christian states, in whose hearts no senti- 
 ment of humanity or justice inhabits, and over whom 
 neither the fear of God nor the fear of man exercises a con- 
 trol. In the sight of our law, the African slave-trader is a 
 pirate and a felon : and, in sight of Heaven, an offender far 
 beyond the ordinary depth of human guilt. There is no 
 brighter part of our history than that which records the 
 measures which have been adopted by the government, at 
 an early day, and at different times since, for the suppression 
 of this traffic; and I would call on all the true sons of New 
 England to co-operate with the laws of man and the justice 
 of Heaven. If there be, within the extent of our knowledge 
 or influence, any participation in this traffic, let us pledge 
 ourselves here to extirpate and destroy it. It is not fit thtt 
 the land of the Pilgrims should bear the shame longer. I 
 hear the sound of the hammer, I bce the smoke of the fur- 
 naces, where manacles and fetters are still forged for human 
 limbs. I see the visages of those who, by stealth, and at 
 midnight, labour in this work of hell, foul and dark, as may 
 become the artificers of such instruments of misery and tor- 
 ture. Let the spot be purified, or let it cease to be of New 
 England. Let it be purified, or let it be set aside from tha 
 Christian world; let it bo put out of the circle of human 
 
 )-i 
 
 !.•■ f 
 
 : ^i^ 
 
 * r. 
 
 ii' ' 
 
 
 - ;-f-) 
 
 j;iJ 
 
 ! i1 
 
 t'^i 
 
94 
 
 DEFENCE OF QUEEN CAROLINE. 
 
 Bympathiea and human regards, and let civilized man hence- 
 forth have no communion with it. 
 
 I would invoke those who fill the seats of Justice, and all 
 
 who minister at her altar, that they execute the wholesome 
 
 and necessary severity of the law. I invoke the ministers 
 
 of Religion, that they proclaim its denunciation of those 
 
 crimes, and add its solemn sanctions to the authority of 
 
 human laws. If the pulpit be silent, whenever or wherever 
 
 there be a sinner bloody with this guilt within the hearing 
 
 of its voice, the pulpit is false to its trust. I call on thff 
 
 fair merchant, who has reaped his harvest upon the seas, 
 
 that he assist in scourging from those seas the worst pirates 
 
 that ever infested them. That ocean, which seems to wave 
 
 with a gentle magnificence, to waft the burdens of an honest 
 
 commerce, and to roll along its treasures with a conscious 
 
 pride ; that ocean, which hardy industry regards, even when 
 
 the winds have ruffled its surface, as a field of grateful toil ; 
 
 what is it to the victim of this oppression, when he is 
 
 brought to its shores, and looks forth upon it for the first 
 
 time, from beneath chains, and bleeding with stripes? — what 
 
 is it to him, but a wide-spread prospect of sufiering, anguish, 
 
 and death 1 Nor do the skies smile longer, nor is the air 
 
 longer fragrant to him. The sun is cast down from heaven. 
 
 An inhuman and accursed traffic has cut him ofi^, in his 
 
 manhood or in his youth, from every enjoyment belon'-' 
 
 to his being, and every blessing which his Creator intO' 
 
 for him. 
 
 
 l,j. 
 
 XI.-DEFENCE OP QUEEN CAEOLINE. 
 
 (brougham.) 
 
 The trial of Caroline, consort of George IV., took place In 1820, before the 
 House of Lords. The ministry ultimately withdrew their " Bill of Pains and 
 Penalties," to the great joy of the nation, who sided with the ii^jured 
 Queen. 
 
 Such, my lords, is the case now before you ! Such is the 
 evidence in support of this measure — evidence inadequate to 
 prove a debt — impotent to deprive of a civil right — ridicu- 
 lous to convict of the lowest off'ence — scandalous if brought 
 forward to support a charge of the highest naiare which tho 
 
 i-K M 
 
THE HUNGAKIAN REVOLUTION. 
 
 95 
 
 law knows— monstrous to ruin the honour, to blast the 
 name of an English Queen ! What shall I say, then, if this 
 is the proof by which an act of judicial legislation, a parlia- 
 mentary sentence, an ex post facto law, is sought to be passed 
 against this defenceless woman? My lords, I pray you to 
 pause. I do earnestly beseech you to take heed ! You are 
 standing upon the brink of a precipice— then beware! It 
 will go forth your judgment, if sentence shall go against the 
 Queen. But it will be the only judgment you ever pro- 
 nounced, which, instead of reaching its object, will return 
 and bound back upon those who give it. Save the country, 
 my lords, from the horrors of this catastrophe— save your- 
 selves from this peril— rescue that country, of which you are 
 the ornaments, but in which you can flourish no longer, 
 when severed from the people, than the blossom when cut 
 oft" from the roots and the stem of the tree. Save that 
 country, that you may continue to adorn it— save the Crown, 
 which is in jeopardy— the Aristocracy, which is shaken— 
 save the Altar, which must stagger with the blow that rends 
 its kindred Throne ! You have said, my lords, you have 
 willed— the Church and the King have willed— that the 
 Queen should be deprived of its solemn service. She has 
 instead of that solemnity, the heartfelt prayers of the people. 
 She wants no prayers of mine. But I do here pour forth 
 my humble supplications at the Throne of Mercy, that that 
 mercy may be poured down upon the people, in a larger 
 measure than the merits of their rulers may deserve, and 
 that your hearts may be turned to justice ! 
 
 
 i 
 
 «l 
 
 Xn.— THE HUNGARIAN EEVOLUTION. 
 
 (KOSSnTH.) 
 
 The insurrection of the Hungarians against the Emperor of Austria broke cut 
 In 1848, and wa« crushed in 1849,— the sun-ender of the fortress of Komora 
 (28th September 1849) being the anniversary of the appointment of a pro- 
 visional government under Kossuth. 
 
 Three years ago, yonder house of Austria, which had chiefly 
 me to thank for not having been swept away by the revolu- 
 tion of Vienna in March 1848, having, in retum,"an8wered by 
 
 I 
 
 II 
 
m 
 
 *i 1, 
 
 1*5 I 
 
 d y* 
 
 ni 
 
 iiill li^ 
 
 96 
 
 THK HUNOARIAN RKVOLUTFOX. 
 
 tho most foul, most sacrilegious conspiracy against the char- 
 tered rightg, freedom, and national existence of my native 
 land, it became my share, being then a member of the 
 ministry, with undisguised truth to lay before the Parlia- 
 ment of Hungary the immense danger of our bleeding father- 
 land. Having made the sketch, which, however dreadful, 
 could be but a faint shadow of the horrible reality, I pro- 
 ceeded to explain the alternations which our terrible destiny 
 left to us, after the failure of all our attempts to avert the 
 evil. Keluctant to present the neck of the realm to the 
 deadly snake which aimed at its very life, and anxious to 
 bear up against the horrors of fate, and manfully to fight 
 the battle of legitimate defence, scarcely had I spoken the 
 word, scarcely had I added the words that the defence would 
 require two hundred thousand men and 80,000,000 of florins, 
 when the spirit of freedom moved through the hall, and 
 nearly four hundred representatives rose as one man, and, 
 lifting their right arms towards God, solemnly said, " We 
 grant it— freedom or death !" 
 
 Thus they spoke, and there they swore, in a calm and 
 silent majesty, awaiting what further word might fall from 
 my lips. And for myself,— it was my duty to speak, but the 
 grandeur of the moment and the rushing waves of sentiment 
 benumbed my tongue. A burning tear fell from my eyes, a 
 sigh of adoration to the Almighty Lord fluttered on my lips ; 
 and, bowing low before the majesty of my people, as I bow 
 now before you, gentlemen, I left the tribunal silently, speech- 
 less, mute. Pardon me my emotion,— the shadows of our 
 martyrs passed before my eyes ; I heard the millions of ray 
 native land once more shouting " Liberty or death ! " As I was 
 then, sirs, so am I now. I would thank you, gentlemen, for the 
 generous sympathy with which, in my undeserving person, you 
 have honoured the bleeding, the oppressed, but not broken, 
 Hungary. I would thank you for the ray of hope which the 
 sympathy of the English people casts on the night of our 
 fate. I would thank you, gentlemen, warmly as I feel, and 
 as becomes the dignity of your glorious land. But the 
 words fail me ; they fail me not only from want of knowledge 
 of your language, but chiefly because my sentiments are 
 deep, uiid fervent, and ti ue. The tongue of man is powerful 
 
THE HUNGARIAN REVOLUTION. 
 
 97 
 
 enough to render the ideas whicli the human intellect con- 
 ceivos; but in the realm of true and deep sentiments it is 
 but a weak interpreter. These are inexpressible, like the 
 
 endless glory of the Omnipotent 
 
 Perhaps there might be some glory in inspiring such a 
 nation, and to such a degree. But I cannot accept the 
 praise. No; it is not I who inspired the Hungarian 
 people,- It was the Hungnrian people who inspired me. 
 Whatever I thought, and still think-whatever I felt, and 
 still feel— is but a feeble pulsation of that heart which in 
 the breast of my people beats. Tlie glory of battles is 
 ascribed to the leaders, in history; theirs are the laurels of 
 immortality. And yet, on meeting the danger, they knew 
 that, alive or dead, their name will upon the lips of tho 
 people for ever live. How different, how much purer, is the 
 light spread on the image of thousands of the people's sons 
 who, knoAving that where they fall they will lie unknown' 
 ttieir names imlionoured and unsung, but who, nevertheless' 
 animated by +ho love of freedom and fatherland, went on 
 Ciilmly, singing national anthems, against the batteries whose 
 crosrf-fire vomited death and destruction oa them, and took 
 them without firing a shot, they who fell falling with the 
 sliout, " Hurrah for Hungary !" 
 
 And so they died by thousands, the unnamed demigods 
 Such IS the people of Hungary. Still they say it is I who 
 have inspired them. No ! a thousand times no ! It is they 
 who have inspired me. The moment of death, gentlemen 
 IS a dreary one. Even the features of Cato partook of the 
 impression of this dreariness. A shadow passed over the 
 brow of Socrates on drinking the hemlock cup. With us 
 those who beheld the nameless victims of the love of country 
 lying on the death-field beneath Buda's walls, met but the 
 impression of a smile on the frozen lips of the dead ; and tho 
 dying answered tliose who would console but by the words 
 " Never mind ; Buda is ours ! Hurrah for the fatherland !"' 
 So they spoke and died. He who witnessed such scenes, 
 not as an exception, but as a constant rule,— he who saw the 
 adolescent weep when told he was yet too young to die for 
 his land, — he who saw the sacrifices of spontaneity,— he v/ho 
 heard what a fury spread over the people on hearing of the 
 
 (8C) 7 
 
 i 
 
&8 
 
 TUK UUNQARIAN REVOLUTION. 
 
 Jl 
 
 sutastrophc,— he who marked his behaviour towards the 
 victors after all was lost,— he who knows what sort of curse 
 is mixed in the prayers of the Magyar, and knows what sort 
 of sentiment is burning alike in the breast of the old and of 
 the young, of the strong man and of the tender wife, and 
 ever will be burning on, till the hour of national resurrec- 
 tion Etrikcs,— ho who is aware of all this will surely bow 
 before this people with respect, and will acknowledge with 
 me that such a people wants not to be inspired, but that it 
 is an everlasting source of inspiration itself. This is the 
 people of Hungary ! And for me,— my only glory is, that 
 this people found in myself the personification of their 
 own sentiments. This is all he can tell of himself whom you 
 are honouring with so mauy tokens of your sympathy. Let 
 me, therefore, hold the consoling faith, that, in honouring me 
 by your sympathy, you were willing to give your sympathy 
 
 to the people of the Magyars 
 
 Hungary is not the sacrifice of its own crimes. An ambi- 
 tious woman had, in the palace of Vienna, the sacrilegious 
 dream to raise a child to the seat of power upon the ruins of 
 liberty. Well she knew that God would not be with her ; 
 but she knew that the Czar would be with her, — and what 
 do they care for God, if only the Czar be with them !— the 
 Czar, who dared to boast that he has the calling to put his 
 foot upon mankind's neck. Arrogant mortal! thou dust 
 before God ! No, gentlemen, by such an act a nation may 
 sulfer, but not die. The God of humanity cannot admit 
 this. And do you note already his judgment-mark? They 
 said, " Down with Hungary, that the Hapsburgs may rule as 
 they please !" And look ! they had already, in the first act 
 of their sacrilegious plot, to mendicate the helm of him whose 
 aid gave them dishonourable bondage instead of the coveted 
 might. They longed to be the sun, and have nations for 
 moons to revolve around them in obedience ; and they them- 
 selves became the obedient moon of a frail mortal. Let 
 them not rely on their Czar ; his hour also will come. The 
 millions of Kussia cannot be doomed to be nothing else than 
 blind instruments of a single mortal's despotic whims. 
 Humanity has a nobler destiny than to be the footstool to 
 the ambition of some families. The destiny of mankind is 
 
GLADSTONE OS TUE AFFAIRS OF GREECE, 
 
 99 
 
 froudoui, sir ; and the sun of freedom will rise over Russia 
 also; and in the number of liberated nations who will raise 
 the song of thanksgiving to God, not even the Russians will 
 fail. So let the house of Austria trust to his Czar. The 
 people of Hungary and myself, wo trust to God ! 
 
 Xin.— GLADSTONE ON THE AFFAIE8 OP GREECE. 
 
 (OLADSTONB.) 
 
 Tlie Right Honourable William Ewart Gladstone, M.P., the present CfianceVor 
 of the Exchcqiier, was born in Liverpool, in 1809, of a Scottish family sotUed 
 tliere. Ilia career at the University of Osfurd and in rarliament has been 
 one of distinsul'.hed success. 
 
 In consequence of the Greek goveramont refusing to pay the demands of some 
 British subjects who had suffered pecuniary loss in Athens by the violence 
 of the mob, Admiral Parker, with tlie Mediterranean fleet, was ordered to 
 blockade the Piraeus. An Inquiry was raised on the subject in Parliament, 
 and, on the 27th of June 1850 Jlr. Gludstono delivered a speech, from which 
 the followlntj is an extract: — 
 
 And now I will grapple with the noble Lord [Palmorston] 
 on the ground which he selected for himself, in the most 
 triumphant portion of his speech, by his reference to those 
 empliatic words, Civis Eomanus sum. He vaunted, amidst 
 the cheers of his supporters, that under his administration an 
 Englishman should be throughout the world what the citizen 
 of Rome had been. What then, sir, was a Roman citizen 1 
 He was the member of a privileged caste ; he belonged to a 
 conquering race,— to a nation tliat held all others bound 
 down by the strong arm of power. For him there was to 
 be an exceptional system of law; for him principles were to 
 be asserted, and by him rights were to be enjoyed, that were 
 denied to the rest of the world. Is such, then, the view of 
 the noble lord, as to the relation that is to subsist between 
 England and other countries 1 Does he make the claim for 
 us, that we are to be uplifted on a platform high above 
 the standing-ground of all other nations ? It is, indeed, too 
 clear, not only from the expressions, but from the whole 
 spirit of the speech of the noble viscount, that too much of 
 this notion is lurking in his mind ; that he adopts in part 
 that vain conception, that vvc, foraooth, have a nii3,sion lo 
 be the censors of vice and folly, of abuse and imperfectiou, 
 
 '"■ !1 
 
 yj 
 
1(H) 
 
 (JLADSTONli ON TlIK AKKAIUS OF HKEEOE. 
 
 \m 
 
 among tho otlicr countries of tlio world ; that wo arc to ')o 
 tho universal schoolmasters ; and that all those who hesitate 
 to recognise our office can be governed only by prejudice or 
 personal animosity, and siiould have tho blind war of diplo- 
 macy forthwith declared against them 
 
 Sir, the English people, whom we iiro hore to represent, 
 are indeed a great and noble people ; but it adds nothing to 
 their greatness or their nobleness that, when we assemble 
 in this place, we should trumpet fortli our virtues in elabo- 
 rate panej;yrics, and designate those who may not be wholly 
 of our mind as a knot of foreign conspirators. When, in- 
 deed, I heard the honourable and learned gentleman tho 
 member for Sheffield glorifying us, together with the rest of 
 the people of this country, and announcing that we soared 
 in unapproachable greatness, and tho like^ I confess T felt 
 that eulogies such as those savoured somewhat of bombast ; 
 and thought it much to the honour of this House that tho 
 praises thus vented seemed to fall so flat ; that the cookery of 
 the honourable and learned gentleman was evidently seasoned 
 beyond tho capacity and relish of our palaf oa 
 
 Sir, I say the policy of the noble lord tends to encourage 
 and confirm in us that which is our besetting fault and weaTc- 
 ness, both as a nation and as individuals. Let an English- 
 man travel where he will as a private person, he is found in 
 general to be upright, high-minded, brave, liberal, and true ; 
 but with all this, foreigners are too often sensible of some- 
 tliing that galls them in his presence; and I aj)prehen(l it is 
 because he has too great a tendency to self-esteem— too litlle 
 disposition to regard the feelings, the habits, and the ideas 
 of others. Sir, I find this characteristic too plainly legible 
 in the policy of the noble loi-d. I doubt not that use will 
 be made of our present debate to work upon this peculiar 
 weakness of the English mind. Tiio people will be told 
 that those who oppose the motion are governed by personal 
 motives, have no regard for public principle, no enlarged 
 ideas of national policy. You will take your case before a 
 favourable jury, and you think to gain your verdict; but, 
 sir, let the House of Commons be warned— let it warn itself 
 —against all illusions. There is in this case also a course 
 of appeal, Tiiere is an appeal, such as tho honourable and 
 
 
 
MAN BKFOllK THE FAM* 
 
 101 
 
 
 Uiarncd lucmbcr for Sheflield has mado, from tlio one House 
 of Parliament to tho other. Tliero is a further appeal from 
 this IIouso of Parliament to the people of Enj^lnnd. But, 
 lastly, there is also an appeal from tho i)Coplc of England to 
 tho general sentiment of the civilized world; and I, for my 
 part, am of opinion that England will stand shorn of a chief 
 part of her glory and her pride, if sho shall bn found to havo 
 separated herself, through tho policy s^o pursues abroad, 
 from the moral supports which tho general and fixed con- 
 victions of mankind afford— if the day shall come in which 
 she may continue to excite tho wonder and the fear of other 
 nations, but in which she shall have no part in their afl'cc- 
 tion and their regard. 
 
 No, sir, let it not be so : let us recognise, and recognise 
 with frankness, tho equality of tho weak with tho strong; 
 the principles of brotherhood among nations, and of their 
 sacred independenco. When wo are asking for the main- 
 tenance of tho rights which belong to our fellow-subjects 
 resident in Greece, let us do as wo would bo dono by, and 
 let us pay all the respect to a feeble state, and to tlie infancy 
 of free institutions, which we should desire and should exact 
 from others towards their maturity and their strength. Let 
 us refrain from all gratuitous and arbitrary meddling in the 
 internal concerns of other states, even as we should resent 
 the same interference if it were attempted to be practised 
 towards ourselves. 
 
 Xiy.— MAN BEPO ; i JHE PALI. 
 
 (dr. b. south.) 
 
 Dr. Robert South, one of the ablest of the clergy of his own day, was the son of 
 a London merchant. He was born at Hackney In 165)3, and died ia 17ia Ha 
 was a keen supporter of the " divine right of kings." 
 
 The understanding, the noblest faculty of the mind, was 
 then sublime, clear, and aspiring, and as it were the soul's 
 upper region,— lofty and serene, free from the vapours and 
 disturbances of the inferior affections. It was the leading, 
 controlling faculty; all the passions wore the colours of 
 reason. It did not so much persuade as command ; it waa 
 
101 
 
 MAN BEFOUE THE KALU 
 
 not consul, but dictator. Discourse was tlien almost us 
 quick tts intuition ; it was nimble in proposing, firm in con- 
 cluding; it could sooner determine than now it can dispute. 
 Like the sun, it had both li^ht and agility: it know no rest, 
 but in motion ; no quiet, but in activity. It did not so 
 properly apprehend as irradiate the object; not so much find 
 as make things intelligible. It arbitrated upon the several 
 reports of sense, aud all the varieties of imagination ; not 
 iiko a drowsy judge, only hearing, but also directing tlicir 
 verdict. In short, it was vegete, quick, and lively; open as 
 the day, untainted as the morning, full of the innocence and 
 eprightliness of youth : it gave the soul a bright and full view 
 into all things; and was not only a window, but itself the 
 prospect. Adam came into the world a philosopher ; which 
 sufficiently appeared by his writing the nature of things 
 upon their names. He could view essences in themselves, 
 and read forms without the comment of their resjjectivo 
 properties ; ho could see consequents yet dormant in their 
 principles, and cftects yet unborn in the womb of their 
 causes; his understanding could almost pierce into future 
 contingents, his conjectures improving even to prophecy, or 
 the certainties of prediction. Till his foil, he was ignorant of 
 nothing but sin ; or at least it rested in the notion, without 
 the smart of the experiment. Could any difficulty have 
 been proposed, the resolution would have been as '>r^"]y as 
 the proposal ; it could not have had time to settle into doubt. 
 Like a better Archiniedes, the issue of all his inquiries was 
 au (mxa, an ey^Tj^, the offspring of his brain, without the 
 sweat of his brow. Study was not then a duty, night- 
 watchings were needless ; the light of reason wanted not°the 
 assistance of a caudle. This is the doom of fallen man, to 
 labour in the fire, to see truth in prof undo,— to exhaust his 
 time, and to impair his health, and perhaps to spin out his 
 days, and himseli', into one pitiful, controverted conclusion. 
 There was then no poring, no struggling with memory, no 
 straming for invention ; his faculties were quick and expe- 
 dite; they answered without knocking, they were ready 
 upon the first summons ; there was freedom and firmness in 
 all their operations. I confess, it is as difficult for us. who 
 date our ignorance from our first being, and were still bred 
 
MAJilSTY OF CliniST. 
 
 103 
 
 \\\\ witli the flamo infirmities ahout us witli wiiich wo wero 
 l)ora, to raise our tliouglits and inia>,'ination8 to those intel- 
 lectual perfections tiiat attended our nature in the time of 
 innocence, as it is for a peasant bred up in the obscurities of 
 a cottage to fancy in his mind the unseen splendours of a 
 court. But by rating positives by their privativcs, and othcT 
 arts of reason, by whicli discourse 8upi)lie8 the want of tho 
 reports of sense, we may collect the excellency of the under- 
 standing then by the glorious remainders of it now, and 
 guess at tho statclincss of tho building by tho ratignificenco 
 of its ruins. All those arts, rarities, and inventions, which 
 vulgar minds gaze at, the ingenious pursue, and all admire, 
 are but tho relics of an intellect defaced with sin and time. 
 We admire it now only as antiquaries do a piece of old coin, 
 for the stamp it once borc, and not for those vanishing linea- 
 njenta and disappearing draughts that remain upon it at 
 present. And certainly that must needs have been very 
 glorious, the decays of which are so admirable. He that is 
 comely when old and decrepit, surely was very beautiful 
 when he was young. An Ai'istotlo was but the rubbish of 
 an Adam, and Athens but the rudiments of Paradise. 
 
 XV.-MAJESTY OP CHRIST. 
 
 (W. AROIIER UDTLKU. ) 
 
 William Archer Butler, D.D., one of the most a-^ompl'slied and profound 
 Hcliolai's which the Church of England has in mouern times possessed, was 
 born near Clonmel, Ireland, Ir. 1814, and died In 1848, at tJie early age of 
 tliir'.y-four. 
 
 On such a subject as this, what can one say which is not 
 unworthy] It is far vaster than our vastest conception, 
 infinitely grander than our loftiest; yet, overpowcringly 
 awful as it is, how familiarity reconciles us to hearing it 
 •without awe ! Perhaps even the overpowering greatness of 
 the subject makes us despair of conceiving it. All the won- 
 ders of God fall deadly on unfitted minds. And thus men 
 learn listlessly to hear words, without even an eftbrt to 
 attach idea-s tn them ; and thif? i^ not least the case with 
 those who dispute the most bitterly about the lifeless words 
 
 ill 
 
 ('Is 
 
 mhb 
 
\i I 
 
 104 
 
 MAJESTY OK (JilUiST. 
 
 I' <' 
 
 I 
 
 themselves. In such a case all that can be done is to 
 endeavour to devise some mode of meeting this miserable 
 influence of habit, by forcing the mind to make some foint 
 ettort to realize the infinite magniiicence of the subject. Let 
 us endeavour, then, to approach it tluis. 
 
 You are wandering (I will suppose) in some of the 
 wretched retreats of poverty, upon some mission of business 
 or chanty. Perplexed and wearied amid its varieties of 
 misery, you chance to come upon an individual whose con- 
 versation and mien attract and surprise you. Your atten- 
 tion enkindled by the gracious benevolence of the stranger's 
 manner, you inquire; and the astounding fact reveals itself 
 that, in this lone and miserable scene, you have, by some 
 strange conjuncture, met with one of the great lic^hts of the 
 age, one belonging to a different and distant si)here, one of 
 the leaders of universal oinnion; on whom your thou-dits 
 had long been busied, and whom you had for years desired 
 to see. The singular accident of an interview so unexpected. 
 hLs and agitates your mind. You form a thousand theories 
 as to what strange cause could have brought him there. 
 ifou recall how he spoke and looked ; you call it an epoch in 
 your life to have witnessed so startling an occurrence-to 
 have beheld one so distingrished, in a scene so much out of 
 aU possibility of anticipation ; and this even though he 
 were in no wise apparently connected with it, except as 
 witnessing and compassionating its groups of misery. 
 
 Yet, again, something more wonderful than this is easily 
 conceivable. Upon the same stage of wretchedness a loftier 
 personage may be imagined. In the wild ^evolutions of 
 fortune, even monarchs have been wanderers. Suppose this 
 then,— improbable, indeed, but not impossible surely. And 
 then, what feelings of respectful pity, of deep and earnest 
 interest, would thrill your fiame, as you contemplated such 
 a one cast down from all that earth can minister of luxury 
 and power, from the head of councils and of armies, to seek 
 a home with the homeless, to share the bread of destitution 
 and feed on the charity of the scornful ! How the depths of 
 
 ec..o m the voqq^bqs of our hearts,— these terrible espousals 
 01 majesty and misery ! 
 
MAJESTY OF CUKIST. 
 
 105 
 
 But tliis will not suffice. There are beiugs within the 
 mind's easy conception that far overpass the glories of the 
 statesman and the monarch of oar earth. Men of even no 
 extreme ardour of fancy, when once instructed as to the 
 vastness of our universe, have yearned to know of the life 
 and intelligence tluit animate and that guido those distant 
 regions of creation which science has so abundantly and so 
 wonderfully revealed ; and have dared to dream of the com- 
 munications tliat might subsist — and that may yet in another 
 state of exi.stence subsist — with the beings of such spheres. 
 Conceive, then, no h)nger the mighty of our world in this 
 sti-ange union with misery and degradation, but the presid- 
 ing spirit of one of these orbs ; or mvdtiply his power, and 
 make him the dejiuted governor, the -""cegerent angel, of a 
 million of those yrbs that are spread i eir myriads through 
 infinity. Think what it wouhl bo to be permitted to hold 
 high converse with suili a delegate of Heaven as this ; to find 
 this lord of a million Avorlds the actual iidiabitant of our 
 own ; to see him, and yet live ; to learn the secrets of his 
 immense administration, and hear of furms of being of which 
 men can now have no more conception tlian the insect living 
 on a leaf has of the forest that surrounds him. StiU more, 
 to find, in this being, an interest, a real interest in the affairs 
 of our little corner of the universe, — of that earthly cell, 
 which is absolutely invisible from the nearest fixed star that 
 sparkles in the heavens above us ; nay, to find him willing 
 to throw aside his glorious toils of empire, in order to medi- 
 tate our welfare, and dwell among us for a time. This 
 surely would be wondrous, appalling, and ye*^^ transporting ; 
 such as that, when it had passed away, life would seem to 
 have nothing more it could oflcr, compared to the being 
 blessed with such an intercourse ! 
 
 And now mark: behind all the visible scenery of natute — 
 beyond all the systems of all the stars — around this whole 
 universe, and through the infinity of infinite space itself — 
 from all eternity and to all- eternity — there lives a Being, 
 compared to whom that mighty spirit just described, with 
 his empire of a million suns, is infinitely less than to you is 
 the minutest mote that floats in the sunbeam. There is a 
 Being in whoso breath lives the whole immense of worlds ; 
 
 r r--^ 
 
 S 1" 
 
106 
 
 MAJKSTY OF CHRIST. 
 
 who With the faintest wish could Wot them all from exist- 
 ence; and who, after tiiey had all vanished away like a 
 dream would remain, fillin- the whole tremendous solitude 
 they left, as unimpaired in all the fulness of his mi{,dit as 
 when he first scattered them around him to be tlie flnmina 
 beacons of his glory. With him, coinfinite with immensity" 
 coeval with eternity, the universe is a span, its duration a 
 moment. Hear his voice attesting his own eternal sove- 
 reignty : ' Heaven and earth shall jiass away, but my words 
 shall not pass away."-But lolio is he that thus builds the 
 tJirone of his glory upon the ruins of earth and heaven ? who 
 is he that thus triumphs over a perishing universe, himself 
 alone eternal and impassible? The child of a Jewish 
 woman;- he who was laid in a manger, because there was 
 no room for him in the inn at Bethlehem! 
 
POETRY. 
 
 SECTIOiX I.-IlISTOrJCAL AND DESCRiniVE. 
 
 I.-TEITIMPHS OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. 
 
 (j. O. LYONS.) 
 
 Now gather all our Saxon bards, let harps and hearts be 
 
 strung, 
 To celebrate the triumphs of our own good Saxon tongue ; 
 For stronger far than hosts that march with battle-flags 
 
 unfurled, 
 It goes with Freedom, Tiiought, and Truth, to rouse and 
 
 rule the world. 
 
 Stout Albion learns its household lays on every surf- worn 
 
 shore. 
 And Scotland hears its echoing far as Orkney's breakers 
 
 roar — 
 From Jura's crags and Mona's hills it floats on every gale, 
 And warms with eloquerce and song the homes of InnisfaiL 
 
 On many a wide and swarming deck it scales the rough 
 
 wave's crest. 
 Seeking its peerless heritage — the fresh and fruitful West : 
 It climbs New England's rocky steeps, as victor mounts a 
 
 throne ; 
 Niagara knows and greets the voice, still mightier than its 
 
 own. 
 
 I i 
 
 I } 
 
 W- 
 
 
 ! 
 
 It spreads whore winter piles deep snows on bleak Canadian 
 
 plains, 
 And where, on Essequibo's banks, eternal summer reigns: 
 
108 
 
 TRIUMPHS OF THE KNGLISU LANGUAGE 
 
 r r 
 
 It glacis Acadia's misty coasts, Jamaica's glowing islo, 
 And bides where, gay with early flowers, green Texan 
 
 prairies smile : 
 It tracks the loud, swift Oregon, through sunset valleys 
 
 rolled. 
 And soars where Califbruian brooks wash down their sands 
 
 of gold. 
 
 It sounds in Bonico's camphor groves, on seas of fierce 
 
 Malay, 
 In fields that curb old Ganges' flood, and towers of proud 
 
 Bombay : 
 It wakes up Aden's flashing eyes, dusk brows, and swarthy 
 
 limbs ; 
 
 The dai'k Liberiau soothes her child with English cradle 
 hymns. 
 
 Tasmania's maids are wooed and won in gentle Saxon speech ; 
 Australian boys read Crusoe's life by Sydney's sheltered 
 
 beach : 
 It dwells where Afric's southmost capes meet oceans broad 
 
 and blue. 
 And Nieuveld's rugged mountains gird the wide and waste 
 
 Karroo. 
 
 It kindles realms so far apart, that, while its praise you sing, 
 Time may be clad with autumn's fruits, and Viose with 
 
 flowers of spring : 
 It quickens lands whose meteor lights flame in an arctic sky. 
 And lands for which the Southern Cross hangs its orb^d 
 fires on high. 
 
 It goes with all that prophets told, and righteous kings 
 
 desired, — 
 With all that great apostles taught, and glorious Greeks 
 
 admired ; 
 
 With Shakspere's deep and wondrous verse, and Milton's 
 
 loftier mind, — 
 With Alfred's laws, and Newton's lore,— to cheer and bless 
 
 mankind. 
 
THE TIIREATENKD INVASION. 
 
 109 
 
 Mark, as it si)rca(ls, how deserts bloom, and error flies away, 
 As vanishes the mist of night before the star of day ! 
 But grand as are the victories whose monuments we see. 
 These are but as the dawn, which speaks of noontide yet 
 to be. 
 
 Take heed, then, heirs of Saxon fame, take heed, nor once 
 
 disgrace 
 With deadly pen or spoiling sword, our noble tongue and 
 
 race. 
 Go forth prepared in every clime to love and help each other. 
 And judge that they who counsel strife would bid you smite 
 
 — a brother. 
 
 Go forth, and jointly speed the time, by good men prayed 
 
 for long. 
 When Christian states, grown just and wise, will scorn 
 
 revenge and wrong ; 
 When earth's oppressed and savage tribes shall cease to pine 
 
 or roam. 
 All taught to prize these English words— Faith, Freedom, 
 
 Heaven, and Home. 
 
 n.-THE THREATENED INVASION. 
 
 (CAMPBELL.) 
 
 Tlionias Cnmiibcll, so well known by lils "I'lcasures of Hope," and his many 
 
 spirited lyrics, was born in Glaspow in 1777, and died in lioulogne in 1844. 
 The poem refers to the invasion threatened by Napoleon Bonaparte in lb03. 
 
 Our bosoms we'll bare for the glorious strife, 
 
 And our oath is recorded on high. 
 To prevail in the cause that is dearer than life, 
 
 Or, crushed in its ruins, to die ! 
 Then rise, fellow-freemen, and stretch the right hand, 
 And swear to prevail in your dear native land ! 
 
 'Tis the home we hold sacred is laid to our trust — 
 
 God bless the green isle of the brave ! 
 Should a conoueror tread on our fnrefiit.liPrR' duKt 
 
 It would rouse the old dead from their grave ! 
 
 
 ■M 
 
no THK ABBOT TO BUUCK. 
 
 Then rise, fellow-frccmen, and stretch the right liand, 
 And swear to prevail in your dear native land ! 
 
 In a Briton's sweet liome shall a spoiler abide, 
 
 Profiuiing its loves and its charms 1 
 Shall a Frenchman insult the loved fair at our side ?- 
 
 To arms ! my country, to arms ! 
 Then rise, fellow-freemen, and stretch the right hand. 
 And swear to prevail in your dear native land ! 
 
 Shall a tyrant enslave us, my countrymen ?— No ! 
 
 His head to tlie aword shall be given — 
 A death-bed repentance be taught the proud foe, 
 
 And his blood be an offering to Heaven ! 
 Then rise, fellow-freemen, and stretch the right hand, 
 And swear to prevail in your dear native land ! 
 
 l| 
 
 in.— THE ABBOT TO BRUCE, 
 
 (sir WALTER SCOTT.) 
 
 Sir Walter Scott was born in EdinJiurKh In 1771, and died at AbbotsfonJ 
 
 in 1832. 
 
 Then on King Robert turned tiie Monk, 
 But twice his courage came and sunk; 
 Confronted with the hero's look, 
 Twice fell his eye, his accents shook ; 
 At length, resolved in tone and brow, 
 Sternly he questioned him,— "And thou, 
 Unhappy ! what hast thou to plead, 
 Why I denounce not on thy deed 
 That awful doom which canons tell 
 Shuts paradise, and opens hell ; 
 Anathema of power so dread. 
 It blends the living with the dead, 
 Bids each good angel soar away. 
 And every ill one claim his prey ; 
 Expels thee from the Church's care, 
 And deafens Heaven against thy prayer ; 
 
^ 
 
 THE ABBOT TO BRUCE. 
 
 Arms every hand against thy life, 
 
 Bans all who aid thee in the strife, 
 
 Nay, each whose succour, cold and scant, 
 
 With meanest alms relieves thy want ; 
 
 Haunts thee while living, and, when dead. 
 
 Dwells on thy yet devoted head; 
 
 Rends Honour's scutcheon from thy hearse, 
 
 Stills o'er thy bier the holy verse, 
 
 And spurns thy corpse from hallowed ground, 
 
 Flung like vile carrion to the hound ! 
 
 Such is the dire and desperate doom 
 
 For sacrilege, decreed by Rome ; 
 
 And such the well-deserved meed 
 
 Of thine unhallowed, ruthless deed." — 
 
 111 
 
 i I . 
 
 m 
 
 )•. 
 
 "Abbot!" The Bruce replied, "thy charge 
 
 It boots not to dispute at large. 
 
 This much, howe'er, I bid thee know, 
 
 No selfish vengeance dealt the blow, 
 
 For Comyn died his country's foe. 
 
 Nor blame I friends whose ill-timed speed 
 
 Fulfilled my soon-repented deed ; 
 
 Nor censure those from whose stern tongue 
 
 The dire anathema has rung. 
 
 I only blame mine own wild ire. 
 
 By Scotland's wrongs incensed to fii-e. 
 
 Heaven knows my purpose to atone, 
 
 Far as I may, tlie evil done. 
 
 And hears a penitent's appeal 
 
 From papal curse and prelate's zeal. 
 
 l\Iy first and dearest task achieved. 
 
 Fair Scotland' from her thrall relieved, 
 
 Shall many a priest in cope and stole 
 
 Say requiem for Red Coniyn's soul ; 
 
 While I the blessM Cross advance. 
 
 And expiate this unhappy chance 
 
 In Palestine, with sword and lance. 
 
 But while content the Church should know 
 
 My conscience owns the debt I owe, 
 
 i in 
 
112 TflE ABBOT TO BllUOE. 
 
 Unto De Argentine and Lorn 
 The name of traitor I return. 
 Bid them defiance stern and higli, 
 And give them in their throats the lie ! 
 These brief words spoke, I speak no more 
 Do what thou wilt ; my shrift is o'er." 
 
 Like man by prodigy amazed, 
 Upon the King the Abbot gazed ; 
 Then o'er his pallid features glance 
 Convulsions of ecstatic trance. 
 His breathing came more thick and fiist. 
 And from his pale blue eyes were cast 
 Strange rays of wild and wandering light ; 
 Uprise his locks of silver white, 
 Flushed is his brow, through every vein 
 In azure tide the currents strain. 
 And undistinguished accents broke 
 The awful silence ere he spoke. 
 
 " De Bruce ! I rose with purpose dread. 
 
 To speak my curse upon thy head, 
 
 And give thee as an outcast o'er 
 
 To him who burns to shed tliy gore ;— 
 
 But, like the Midianite of old. 
 
 Who stood on Zophim, heaven-controlled, 
 
 I feel within mine aged breast 
 
 A power that will not be repressed : 
 
 It prompts my voice, it swells my veins, 
 
 It burns, it maddens, it constrains !— 
 
 De Bruce, thy sacrilegious blow 
 
 Hath at God's altar slain thy foe 
 
 O'ermastered yet by high behest, 
 
 I bless thee, and tliou shalt be blessed '" 
 
 He spoke, and o'er the astonished throng 
 
 Was silence, awful, deep, and long. 
 
 Again tliat light has fired his eye, 
 Again his form swells bold and high. 
 The broken voi^-e of age is gone, 
 Tis vigorous manhood's lofty tone : — 
 
 i 
 
ANCIENT QEEECE. 
 
 113 
 
 "Thrice vanquished on the battle-phiin, 
 
 Thy followers alaughtered, fled, or ta'eii, 
 
 A hunted wanderer on the wild, 
 
 On foreign shores a man exiled, 
 
 Disowned, deserted, and distressed, 
 
 I bless thee, and thou shalt be blessed ! 
 
 Blessed in the hall and in the field. 
 
 Under the mantle as the shield ! 
 
 Avenger of thy country's shame, 
 
 Restorer of her injured fame, 
 
 Blessed in thy sceptre and thy sword, 
 
 De Bruce, fair Scotland's rightful lord. 
 
 Blessed in thy deeds and in thy fame, 
 
 Wliat lengthened honours wait thy name ! 
 
 In distant ages, sire to son 
 
 Shall tell thy tale of freedom won, 
 
 And teach his infants, in the use 
 
 Of earliest speech, to falter Bruce. 
 
 Go, then, triumphant ! sweep along 
 
 Thy course, the theme of many a song ! 
 
 The Power, whose dictates swell my breast, 
 
 Hath blessed thee, and thou shalt be blesdcd !" 
 
 11 
 
 
 IV.- ANCIENT GREECE. 
 
 (BTIM)N.) 
 
 George I^rd Byron was born in London In 1788. His father was Captain John 
 liyron of the Guards; and his mother, Miss Gordon of Glght, in Abcrdeenshiro 
 llesucceeded his grand-uncle, William Lord Byron, In the title and estatci:, 
 when eleven years of age. IIo died at Missolonfihi, in Gieooe, in 182 L 
 
 Clime of the unforgotten brave ! 
 Whose land from plain to mountain cave 
 Was freedom's home, or glory's grave ! 
 Shrine of the mighty ! can it be, 
 That this is all remains of thee ? 
 Approach, thou craven crouching slave : 
 
 Say, is not this Thermopylae 1 
 These waters blue tliat round you lave, 
 
 servile offspring of the free— 
 
 (8G) 8 
 
 . n 
 
 
114 PRFSENT STATE OF OBKECR. 
 
 Pronounce what sea, what shoio is tliie? 
 The gulf, the rock of Sahxniis ! 
 These scenes, their story not unlcnowu, 
 Arise and make again your own ; 
 Snatch from the ashes of your sires 
 The embers of tlieir former fires ; 
 And he who in the strife exjiires, 
 Will add to theirs a name of fear, 
 That tyranny sliall quake to hear, 
 And leave his sons a hope, a fame, 
 They too will rather die than shame : 
 For freedom's battle once begun, 
 Bequeathed by bleeding sire to son. 
 Though baffled oft, is ever won. 
 Bear witness, Greece, thy living page, 
 Attest it many a donthloss age ! 
 While kings, in duaty darkjiess hid, 
 Have left a nameless pyramid ; 
 Thy heroes, though the general doom 
 Hath swept the column from their tomlj, 
 A mightier monument command — 
 The mountains of their native land ! 
 There points thy muse to stranger's eye 
 The graves of those that cannot die. 
 'Twere long to tell, and sad to trace. 
 Each step from splendour to disgrace ; 
 Enough— no foreign foe could quell 
 Thy soul, till from itself it fell ; 
 Yes ! self-abasement i)aved the way 
 To villain-bonds and despot sway. 
 
 
 \ 
 
 V.-PBESENT STATE OP GREECE. 
 
 (BYRON.) 
 
 He who hath bent him o'er the dead, 
 Ere the fii-st day of death is fled— 
 The first dark day of notliiniiiioHa, 
 The last of danger and distress — 
 
 1 
 
\ 
 
 i 
 
 PiiKSKNT tiTATK OF ORKKCE, 
 
 nt'furo Decay's cfracing fiugcrs 
 Have swept the lines where beauty lingers, 
 And marked the mild, angelic air, 
 The rapture of repose that's there— 
 Tlie fixed, yet tender traits, that streak 
 The languor of the placid cheek ; 
 And— but for that sad, shrouded' cyo, 
 Tiiat fires not, wins not, weeps not now ; 
 And but for that cliill, changeless brow,' 
 Whose touch thrills with mortality, 
 And curdles to the gazer's heart. 
 As if to him it could impart 
 Tlic doom he dreads, yet dwells upon ■ - 
 Yes, but for these, and these alone- 
 Some moments, ay, one treacherous houi-, 
 He stiU might doubt the tyrant's power, ' 
 So fair, so calm, so softly scaled 
 The first, last look, by death revealed ! 
 
 Such is the aspect of this shore. 
 'Tis Greece— but living Greece no more ! 
 So coldly sweet, so deadly fair, 
 We start, for soul is wanting there. 
 Hers is the loveliness in death 
 That parts not quite with parting breath ; 
 But beauty with that fearful bloom, 
 That hue which haunts it to the tomb- 
 Expression's last receding ray, 
 A gilded halo hovering round decay,— 
 The farewell beam of feeling passed 'away ' 
 Spark of that flame, perchance of heavenly birlh 
 Which gleams, but warms no more its cherished 'earth 
 
 lU 
 
 f 
 
 
)16 
 
 BATTLE OF KILLIECRASitiRi 
 
 I 
 
 n 
 
 VI.— BATTLE OP KlLt ^.CRANKIE. 
 
 (attoon.) 
 
 Wnilftm Edmonifouno Aytonn, Professor of Rhetoric and Belle* Lettrci In «h« 
 
 UnlvcrHty of KdlnbuiRh, waii born In 1813. He it author of "Laji of the 
 
 Scottish Cavallem," " BotUwcll," 4c. 
 The buttio of KIlUecrBnUlo wtu fought In 1089. Tho fdrccs of Wlllbm Til., 
 
 under General .Muckay, were defeated by those of the exiled Jumea II., under 
 
 Graham of Clavcrhousc, VUcount Dundee. 
 
 On the heights of Killiccrankie ycstcr-morn our army lay : 
 Slowly rose the mist in columns from the river's broken way ; 
 Hoarsely roared the swuUea torrent, and tho pass was 
 
 wrapped in gloom, 
 When the clansmen rose together from their lair amidst tho 
 
 broom. 
 Then we belted on our tartans, and our bonnets down wa 
 
 drew, 
 And we felt our broadswords' edges, and we proved them to 
 
 be true ; 
 And we prayed the prayer of soldiers, and we cried the 
 
 gathering cry ; 
 And we clasped the hands of kinsmen, and we swore to do 
 
 or die ! 
 Then our leader rode before us on his war-liorse black as 
 
 night^ 
 Well the Caraeronian rebels knew that charger in the fight ! 
 And a cry of exultation from the bearded warriors rose ; 
 For we loved the house of Claver'se, and we thought of good 
 
 Montrose. 
 But he raised his hand for silence— " Soldiers ! I have sworn 
 
 a vow : 
 Ere the evening's sun shall glisten on Schehallion's loitj 
 
 brow 
 Either we shall rest in triumph, or another of the Graemes 
 Shall have died in battle-harness for his country and King 
 
 James ! 
 Tlu '- upon the Royal Martyr— think of what his race 
 
 T'-'nk . Lira v.liom butchers murdered on the field of 
 
 ■ 
 
 A 
 
BATTLE OF KHi fKCRANKlK. 
 
 IIT 
 
 • 
 
 f 
 
 By his sacred blood I charge ye, by the ruined hearth and 
 ahrino — 
 
 By the blighted hopes of Scotland, by your injuries and 
 mmo — 
 
 Strike this day as if the anvil lay beneath your blows the 
 
 wliilo, 
 
 Be they Covenanting traitors, or the brood of false Argylo I 
 Strike ! and drive the trembling rebels backwards o'er the 
 stormy Forth ; 
 
 Let them tell their pale Convention how they fared within 
 the Nortli. 
 
 Let them tell that Highland honour is not to be bou'dit nor 
 sold, ° 
 
 That we scorn their prince's anger, as we loathe his foreiirn 
 gold. " 
 
 Strike ! and when the fight is over, if you look in vain for 
 me, 
 
 Where the dead arc lying thickest, search for him that was 
 
 Dundee!" 
 Loudly then the hills re-echoed with our answer to his call 
 But a deeper echo sounded in the bosoms of us all. ' 
 
 For the lands of wide Breadalbane, not a man who heard 
 
 him speak 
 
 Would that day have left the battle. Burning eye and flush- 
 ing cheek 
 
 Told the clansmen's fierce emotion, and they harder drew 
 their breath ; 
 
 For their souls were strong within them- stronger than the 
 grasp of death. 
 
 Soon we heard a challenge-trumpet sounding in the pass 
 below, 
 
 And the distant tramp of horses, and the voices of the foe • 
 Down we crouched amid the bracken, tiU the Lowland ranks 
 drew near. 
 
 Panting like the hounds in summer, when they scent the 
 stately deer. 
 
 From the dark defile emerging, next we saw the squadrons 
 come, 
 
 Leslie's foot, and Levea's troopers marching to the tuck of 
 dium ; 
 
 n 
 

 118 
 
 DKATH OF LEONIDAS. 
 
 i M 
 
 r.M , I- 
 
 iJ, 
 
 n 
 
 Tlirough tlie scattered wood of birches, o'er the brokcU 
 
 ground and heath, 
 Wound the long battalion slowly, till they gained the field 
 
 beneath ; — 
 Then we bounded from our covert. Judge how looked the 
 
 Saxons then, 
 When they saw the rugged mountain start to life with 
 
 armed meni 
 Like a tempest down the ridges swept the hurricane of steel ; 
 Kose the slogan of Macdonald— flashed the broadsword of 
 
 Lochiel ! 
 Vainly sped the withering volley 'mongst the forei: .st of 
 
 our band — 
 On we poured until we met them, foot to foot and hand toi 
 
 hand. 
 Horse and man went down like diift-wood when the Hoods 
 
 are black at Yule, 
 Aud their carcasses are whirling in the Garry's deepest pool ; 
 Horse and man went doA\'n before us— living foe there 
 
 tarried none 
 On the field of Killiecrankie, when that stubborn fight waa 
 
 done ! 
 
 VII.-DEATH OP LEONIDAS. 
 
 (OKOLT.) 
 
 The Rev. George Cioly, LL,D., Rector of St. Stephen's, Walbrook, London, was 
 
 born in Dublin In 1785. Died, 1861. Ills works, both prose and verse, aro 
 
 very voluminous. 
 Lconldfts, King of Sparta, was sent by his country to repel the invasion of Greece 
 
 by Xerxes In 480 B.C. He fell, with his three hundred Spartans, In the battle 
 
 at the pass of Therniopyl<£. 
 
 It was the wild midnight,— a storm was in the sky, 
 The lightning gave its light, and the thunder echoed by ; 
 The torrent swei)t the glen, the ocean lashed the shore,— 
 Then rose the Spartan men, to make their bed in gore ! 
 
 Swift from the deluged ground three hundred took tlie 
 
 shield ; 
 Then, .silent, i;athcrod rouud the leader of the field. 
 
 ) 
 
 I 
 
DEATH OK LEONIDAS. 
 
 110 
 
 
 V 
 
 ^ 
 
 He spoke no warrior-word, he bade no trumpet blow ; 
 But the signal thunder roared, and they rushed upon tlio 
 foe. 
 
 The fiery element showed, with one mighty gleam, 
 Rampart and flag and tent, like the spectres of a dream ; 
 All up the mountain side, all down the woody vale, 
 All by the rolling tide, Avaved the Persian banners pale. 
 
 And King Leonidas, among the slumbering band, 
 
 Sprang foremost from the pass, like the lightning's living 
 
 brand ; 
 Then double darkness fell, and the forest ceased to moan. 
 But there came a clash of steel, and a distant dyiijg groan. 
 
 Anon, a trumpet blew, and a fiery sheet burst high, 
 That o'er the midnight threw a blood-red canopy : 
 A host glared on the hill, a host glared by the bay ; 
 But the Greeks rushed onward still, like leopards' in their 
 play. 
 
 The air was all a yell, and the earth was all a flame, 
 Where the Spartan's bloody steel on the silken turbans 
 
 came; 
 And still the Greeks rushed on, beneath the fiery fold. 
 Till, like a rising sun, shone Xerxes's tent of gold. 
 
 They found a royal feast, his midnight banquet, there ! 
 And the treasures of the East lay beneath the Doric spear : 
 Then sat to the repast the bravest of the brave ; 
 That feast must be their last— that spot must be their grave ! 
 
 They pledged old Sparta's name in cups of Syrian wine, 
 And the warrior's deathless fame was sung in strains divine ; 
 They took the rose-wreathed lyres from eunuch and from' 
 slave, 
 
 And taught the languid wires the sounds that Freedom gave. 
 
 But now the morning star crowned CEia's twilight brow, 
 And the Persian born of war from the hill began to blowj 
 
 r- 
 
 r 
 
 ii 
 
 _ T 
 ■ i 
 
120 
 
 THK PLAIN OF MAUATHON. 
 
 L 
 
 '•ill 
 
 \if\ 
 
 Up rose the glorious rank, to Greece one cup poured hli^h, 
 Then, hand in hand, they drank,— "To Immortality!" 
 
 Fear on King Xerxes fell, when, like spirits from the tomb, 
 With shout and trumpet-knell, he saw the warriors come ; 
 But down swept all his power, with chariot and with charge,— 
 Down poured the arroAvy sliower, till sank the Dorian targe. 
 
 They marched within the tent, with all their strength un- 
 strung ; 
 
 To Greece one look they sent, then on high their torches 
 flung : 
 
 To heaven the blaze uproUed, like a mighty altar-tire ; 
 
 And the Persians' gems and gold were the Grecians' funeral 
 pyre. 
 
 Their king sat on his throne, his captains by his side. 
 While the flame rushed roaring on, and their paean loud 
 
 replied ! 
 Thus fought the Greek of old ! Thus will he fight again ! 
 Shall not the self-same mould bring forth the self-same men ? 
 
 VIII.-THE PLAIN OF MARATHON. 
 
 (BTnON.)' 
 
 Tho battle of Maiatlion, in which Miltiades, the Athenian, dofcated the hosts o( 
 Invading rcrsians, under Datis and Aitaphernes, was fouglit in 490 b.c. 
 
 Where'er we tread, 'tis haunted, holy ground ! 
 No earth of thine is lost in vulgar mould ! 
 But one vast realm of wonder spreads around, 
 And all the Muse's tales seem truly told, 
 Till the sense aches with gazing to behold 
 The scenes our earliest dreams have dwelt upon : 
 Each hill and dale, each deepening glen and wold. 
 Defies the power which crushed thy temples gone : 
 Age shakes Athena's tower, but spares grey Marathon. 
 
 Tlio sun, the soil, but not the slave the samc- 
 Uuchunged in ail, except its foreign lord, 
 
 ^' 
 
 Ti 
 
 J 
 
■f 
 
 t 
 
 1 
 
 TlIK PLAIN OF MARATHON. 121 
 
 Preserves alike its bounds and boundless fame : 
 The battle-field— where Persia's victim-horde 
 First bowed beneath the brunt of Hellas' sword, 
 As on the morn to distant glory dear, 
 When Marathon became a magic word, 
 Which uttered, to the hearer's eye appear 
 The camp, the host, the fight, the conqueror's career ! 
 
 The flying Mede— his shaftless broken bow! 
 The fiery Greek— his red pursuing spear ! 
 Mountains above— eartli's, ocean's plain below ! 
 Death in the front— destruction in the rear ! 
 Such was the scene,— what now remaineth here 1 
 What sacred trophy marks tlie hallowed ground 
 Recording Freedom's smile and Asia's tear 1 
 The rifled urn, the violated mound, 
 The dust thy courser's hoof, rude stranger ! spurns around I 
 
 Yet to the remnants of thy splendour past 
 Shall pilgrims, pensive, but unwearied, throng ; 
 Long shall the voyager, with the Ionian blast, 
 Hail the bright clime of battle and of song ; 
 Long shall thine annals and immortal tongue 
 Fill with thy fame the youth of many a shore ; 
 Boast of the aged ! lesson of the young ! 
 Which sages venerate, and bards adore, 
 As Pallas and the Muse unveil their awful lore. 
 
 The parted bosom clings to wonted home, 
 If aught that's kindred cheer the welcome hearth ; 
 He that is lonely, hither let him roam. 
 And gaze complacent on congenial earth, 
 Greece is no lightsome land of social mirth ! 
 But he whom sadness sootheth may abide, 
 And scarce regret the region of his birth. 
 When wandering slow by Delphi's sacred side, 
 Or gazing o'er the plains where Greek and Persian died. 
 
 
 m 
 
 
 •• ^ ' ' m:> mm— 
 
if 
 
 i I 
 
 f 
 
 '1 
 
 122 
 
 ALEXANDER 3 FEAST. 
 
 IX.-AL£XANI)EB'S FEAST; OB, THE FOWEB OP UUSia 
 
 AX ODE IN UONOUll OF ST. CECILIA'S DAT. 
 (DRYDKN.) 
 
 Alexander the Great, King of llacedon, was bom at Pella in 356 b.c. HU career 
 as a conqueror is well Itnown. He died in 323 b.c, of an Iliiiess brouglit on 
 by tlie unliealthy nature of tlie marshy ground near Babylon, and aggratated 
 by a too liberal indulgence in wine at a banquet given to his officers. It is 
 not, Iiowever, his banquet at Babylon, but one at Persepolls, some years before, 
 that Dryden talces as tlie subject of Ids poem. 
 
 John Dryden, 0!ie of the greatest of English poets and satirists, was born in 
 Northamptonshire in 1G31. He died in 1700, and was buried in Westminster 
 Abbey. 
 
 St. Cecilia, the patron saint of music, was a Roman lady who suffered martyrdom 
 In the third century. She is said to hare been taught muaic by an angel,— 
 hence, " She drew an angel down." Her birthday was the 22d ^t. vember. 
 
 'TwAS at the royal feast, for Persia won 
 By Philip's warlike son, 
 Aloft in awful state 
 The god-like hero sate 
 On his imperial tliroue. 
 His valiant peers were placed around. 
 Their brows with roses and with myrtle bound : 
 So should desert in arms be crowned. 
 The lovely Thais, by his side, 
 Sat like a blooming Eastern bride. 
 In flower of youth and beauty's pride.— 
 Happy, happy, happy pair ! 
 None but the brave. 
 None but the brave, 
 None but the brave, deserves the fair. 
 
 1 
 
 ■ % 
 
 ^ 
 
 ^ 
 
 Timotheus, placed on high 
 
 Amid the tuneful choir. 
 
 With flying fingers touched the lyre : 
 Tiic trembling notes iiaccnd the ic;ky, 
 
 And heavenly joys inspire. — 
 
ALEXANDER S FEAST. 
 
 123 
 
 rsiC. 
 
 [is career 
 )ught on 
 graTated 
 I'S. It is 
 '8 before, 
 
 } born In 
 itmlnstcr 
 
 irtyrdoin 
 angel,— 
 nbcr. 
 
 J 
 
 n 
 
 Tho song began from Jove, 
 Who left his blissful seat above — 
 Such is the power of mighty love ! — 
 A dragon's fiery form belied the god : 
 Sublime on radiant spheres he rode, 
 When he to fair Olympia pressed, 
 And stamped an image of himself, a sovereign of the world. 
 The listening crowd admire the lofty sound : 
 " A present deity ! " they shout around— 
 "A present deity !" tho vaulted roofs rebound ;— 
 
 With ravished ears 
 
 The monarch hears, 
 
 Assumes the god, 
 
 AiFects to nod, 
 And seems to shake the spheres. 
 
 The praise of Bacchus then the sweet musician sung. 
 Of Bacchus ever fair, and ever young 1 — 
 The jolly god in triumph comes ! 
 Sound the trumpets ! beat the drums ! 
 Flushed with a purple grace, 
 He shows his honest face. 
 Now give the hautboys breath !— he comes ! he comes ! 
 Bacchus, ever fair and young, 
 Drinking joys did first ordain ; 
 Bacchus' blessings are a treasure : 
 Drinking is the soldier's pleasure : 
 Rich the treasure ; 
 Sweet the pleasure ; 
 Sweet is pleasure after pain ! 
 
 Soothed with the sound, the king grew vain ; 
 .Fought all his battles o'er again : 
 And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew tlio 
 slain ! 
 The master saw the madness rise,— 
 Hia glowing checks, his ardent eves ; 
 And while he heaven and earth defied — 
 Changed his hand, and checked his pride. 
 
I 
 
 124 
 
 ALEXANDER 8 FEAST. 
 
 He chose a mournful muse, 
 
 Soft pity to infuse : 
 He sung Darius great and good ! 
 By too severe a fate, 
 Fallen ! fallen ! fallen ! fallen ! 
 Fallen from his high estate, 
 And weltering in his blood ! 
 Dese. ted at his utmost need 
 By those his former bounty fed, 
 On the bare earth exposed he lies, 
 With not a friend to close his eyes ! 
 With downcast look the joyless victor sate, 
 Revolving, in his altered soul, 
 
 The various turns of fate below ; 
 And now and then a sigh he stole, 
 
 And tears began to flow ! 
 
 
 I- 1 
 
 Tlie mighty master smiled, to see 
 That love was in the next degree : 
 'Twas but a kindred sound to move ; 
 For pity melts the mind to love. 
 Softly sweet, in Lydian measures. 
 Soon he soothed his soul to pleasures : 
 War, he sung, is toil and trouble ; 
 Honour, but an empty bubble ; 
 Never ending, still beginning, 
 
 Fighting still, and still destroying. 
 If the world be worth thy winning. 
 
 Think, oh think it worth enjoying ! 
 Lovely Thais sits beside thee, — 
 Take the good the gods provide thee. 
 The many rend the skies with loud applause : 
 So Love was crowned ; but Music won the cause. - 
 The prince, unable to conceal his pain, 
 Gazed on the fair 
 Who caused his care. 
 And sighed and looked, sighed and looked. 
 Sighed and looked, and sighed again : 
 At length, with love and wine at once oppressed, 
 The vanquished victor— sunk upon her breast ! 
 
 
ALEXANDER'S FEAST. 
 
 ISA 
 
 
 No\ir strike the golden lyre again ! 
 A louder yet, and yet a louder strain ! 
 Break his bands of sleep asunder, 
 And rouse him, like a rattling peal of thunder f 
 Hark ! hark !— the horrid sound 
 Has raised up his head, 
 As awaked from the dead ; 
 And amazed he stares around ! 
 Revenge ! revenge ! Timotheus cries- 
 See the Furies arise ! 
 See the snakes that they rear, 
 How they hiss in their hair, 
 And the sparkles that flash from their eyes ! 
 Behold a ghastly band, 
 Each a torch in his hand ! 
 These are Grecian ghosts that in battle were slain, 
 And, unburied, remain 
 Inglorious on the plain 1 
 Give the vengeance due 
 To the valiant crew ! 
 Behold ! how they toss their torches on high, 
 How they point to the Persian abodes, 
 And glittering temples of their hostile gods !— 
 The princes applaud with a furious joy ; 
 And the king seized a flambeau with zeal to destroy ; 
 Thais led the way. 
 To light him to his prey ! 
 And. like another Helen, fired another Troy. 
 
 Thus, long ago 
 
 Ere heaving bellows learned to blow, 
 
 While organs yet were mute, 
 
 Timotheus, to his breathing flute 
 And sounding lyre, 
 Could swell the soul to rage— or kindle soft desire. 
 
 At last divine Cecilia came, 
 
 Inventress of the vocal frame. 
 The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store, 
 
 Enlarged the former narrow bounds, 
 
 And added length to solemn sounds, 
 
 m :H 
 
120 
 
 MAUCO BOZZAIIIS. 
 
 With nature's mother-wit and arts luikuowu before. 
 Let old Timothous yield the prize, 
 
 Or both divide the crown : 
 He raised a mortal to the skies ; 
 
 She drew an angel down I 
 
 If 
 
 \nj 
 
 t .i 
 
 t f 
 
 I lJifl'\ 
 
 Vt \ 
 
 I 
 
 X.-MABCO BOZZARIS. 
 
 (fitzoreene halleck.) 
 
 Marco Bozzarls was tlie (jreat lioro of modern Greece in her stnigs'e for ln^c- 
 pendence. He was killed in 1823, wliile heailing an assault by niglit on the 
 Tiirkisli cainp at Laspi, wlicre stood the ancient Platrca, famed for a victory 
 (479 B.C.) of tlie Greeks over Mardonlus, tlie Persian commander. The dying 
 expression of Bozzaris was, " To die for liberty is a pleasure, not a pain." 
 
 Mr. Ilallcck Is an American poet of some note. He was born in Connecticut In 
 1795. 
 
 At midnight, in his guarded tent, 
 
 The Turk was dreaming of the hour 
 When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, 
 
 Should tremble at his power : 
 In dreams, through camp and court he bore 
 The trophies of a conqueror ; 
 
 In dreams his song of triumph heard; 
 Then wore his monarch's signet ring — 
 Then pressed that monarch's throne— a king 
 As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing, 
 
 As Eden's garden bird. 
 
 An hour passed on — the Turk awoke 
 
 That bright dream was his last ; 
 He woke to hear his sentries shriek, 
 " To arms! theij come! — the Greek! the Grei'-k!" 
 He woke, to die 'midst flame and smoke 
 And shout and groan and sabre-stroke, 
 
 And death-shots falling thick and fast 
 As lightnings from the mountain cloud ; 
 And heard, with voiee as trumpet loud, 
 
 Bozzaris cheer his band— 
 
ro. 
 
 ; on the 
 victory 
 le dying 
 n." 
 iticut in 
 
 :k! 
 
 !•» 
 
 MARCO BOZZAUIS. 
 
 "Strike, till the last armed foe expires! 
 Strike, for your altars and your fires ! 
 STEIKE, for the green graves of your sires ! 
 God, and your native land!" 
 
 They fouglit like brave men, long and well , 
 
 They piled tliat ground with Moslem slai'n ; 
 They conquered;— but Bozzaris fell 
 
 Bleeding at every vein. 
 His few surviving comrades saw 
 His smile, when rang their proud Imrrjih 
 
 And the red field was won ; 
 They saw in death his eyelids close 
 Calmly, as to a niglit's repose, 
 
 Like flowers at set of sun. 
 
 Come to the bridal chamber, Deatli ! 
 
 Come to tlie mother when she feels 
 For the first time her first-born's breath ; 
 
 Come when the biessM seals 
 That close the pestilence are broke. 
 And crowded cities wail its stroke • 
 Come in consumption's gliastly form, 
 The earthquake's shock, the ocean's storm ; 
 Come when the heart beats high and warm. 
 
 With banquet song and dance and wine,-! 
 And thou art terrible : tlie tear, 
 Tiie groan, the knell, the pall, the bier, 
 And all we know, or dream, or fear. 
 
 Of agony, are thine. 
 
 But to the hero, when his sword 
 
 Has won the battle for the free. 
 Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word, 
 And in its hollow tones are heard 
 
 The thanks of millions yet to be. 
 Bozzaris ! with the storied brave 
 
 Greece nurtured in her glory's time 
 Ecst thee : there is no prouder grave. 
 
 Even in lier own proud clime. 
 
 isy 
 
1 28 THE CID's funeral PROOE83ION. 
 
 We tell thy doom without a ai^h ; 
 For thou art freedom's now, and fame's — 
 One of the few, the immortal names, 
 
 That were not born to die 1 
 
 
 XI.— THE CID'S FUNERAL PROCESSION. 
 
 (MRS. IIBMANS.) 
 
 Fellclii Dorothea Browne, Mrs. Ileinatis, was liorn In Liverpool In 1793, and 
 died In Dublin In 1835, She Is best known by her minor jiiecci, which have 
 always been highly popular; but some of her mora imibitlous efforts, such aH 
 the " Forest Sunctuary," and " Vespers of I'alermo," are no less deserviiin 
 of favour. 
 
 Don UoderiirnDias de Hlvnr, called the CId,— that Is, T.ord or Koble,— was a fanious 
 Spanish hero. The city of Valencia belnR beslrKed by tho Moors while lie 
 lay on his death-bed, he Rave orders that wliou a sally was made his dead 
 body should bo carried out to battle. 
 
 The Moor had beleaguered Valencia's towers. 
 And lances gleamed up through her citron-bowers, 
 And the tents of the desert had girt her phiiii, 
 And camels were trampling tho vinos of Sitain, 
 For the Cid was gone to rest. 
 
 There were men from wilds where tlie death-wind sweeps, 
 There were spears from hills where the lion sleeps, 
 There were bows from sands where tho ostrich ruiia; 
 For the shrill horn of Afrie had called her sons 
 To the battles of the West. 
 
 The midnight bell o'er the dim seas hoard. 
 Like the roar of waters tho air liad stirred ; 
 The stars were shining o'er tower and wave. 
 And the camp lay hushed as a wizard's cave ; 
 But the Christians woke that night. 
 
 They reared the Cid on his barbed* steed, 
 Like a warrior mailed for the hour of need ; 
 And they fixed the sword in the cold right iiand, 
 Whicls had fought so well for his father's land, 
 And the shield from Isi.s work Imng bright. 
 
 ' Covered with armour. 
 
w 
 
 1793, atiit 
 hlcli Imvu 
 ,s, such an 
 deaei'viiix 
 
 8 a fantous 
 
 I while ho 
 
 hia dead 
 
 vcops, 
 
 TirE CID'S FUNERAL PROCESSION. 
 
 There was armfn^r heard in Valencia's Iialls 
 There was v,gil kept on the rampart w Is ' 
 S^ars had not faded, nor clouds turner d 
 
 And tilt? "^t"''''' ''' -^^"'h 
 And the burial train moved cit. 
 
 With a measured pace, as tlin nor-n «f 
 Wna f i.n af;ii 1 ,*^ ' "** ^"6 pace of one, 
 Was the stU death-march of the host be«un • 
 
 S.\ r '"*/*'P ^'^"^ *''« ^""-^^sed bands ' 
 Like a hon's tread on the burning sands ' 
 
 And they gave no battle-shout. 
 
 When the first went forth, it was midnight deen 
 
 On the glad wind streaming free. 
 And the Campeador' came stately then 
 Like a leader circled with steel-clad m";. 
 Bn^ T^"""' down o'er the face o?tTe dead 
 But his steed went proud, by a warrior led, ' 
 For he knew that the Cid was there 
 
 Her eye was solemn, her step was slow, 
 iiut there rose not a sound of war or wie 
 
 ■Nor a whisper on the air. 
 The halls in Valencia were stUI and lone 
 The churches were empty, the masses So'ne • 
 ■Inere was not a voice tlirrnmT, +t, • i ' 
 Kot a footfaU I.ea™ h "i^Sat "'* °'™'' f"' 
 
 So the burial-ti-ain n^o'v^ —'^ 
 
 130 
 
 (86) 
 
 • Market-place. 
 
 
130 
 
 \u II* 
 
 
 11* 
 
 mil J 
 
 THE CID'h funeral PROCKSSION. 
 
 With a moasurcd pace, as the pace of one, 
 Was the stUl death-march of the host begun ; 
 With a silent step went the cuirassed bands, 
 Like a lion's tread on the burning sands, 
 And they gave no battle-shout. 
 
 But the hills pealed with a cry ere long, 
 When the Christians burst on the Paynim' throng 1 
 With a sudden flash of the lance and spear, 
 And a charge of the war-steed in full career, 
 It was Alvar Fanez" camel 
 
 He that waa wrapt with no funeral-shroud, 
 Had passed before, like a threatening cloiidl ^ 
 And the storm rushed down on the tented plain, 
 And the archer-Queen* with her banda lay slam, 
 For the Cid upheld his fame. 
 
 Then a terror fell on the King Bucar, 
 And the Libyan* kings who had joined his war ; 
 And their hearts grew heavy and died away. 
 And their hands could not wield an assagay," 
 For the dreadful things they saw ! 
 
 For it seemed where Minaya' his onset made, 
 There were seventy thousand knights arrayed, 
 All white as snow on Nevada's' steep. 
 And they came like the foam of a roaring deep ;— 
 'Twas a sight of fear and awe. 
 
 And the crested form of a warrior tall, 
 With a sword of fire, went before them all ; 
 With a sword of fire and a banner pale, 
 And a blood-red cross on his shadowy mail. 
 He rode in the battle's van! 
 
 There was fear in the path of his dim white horse. 
 There was death in the giant-warrior's course ! 
 
 • A famous follower of the Cld. 
 ; T^f^^Zs .ho led a band of female archers, to a^lst the Moorish 
 ki,ig. Bucar in his invasion of Spain. ^ ^ ^^^^^ ^^^^^_ 
 
 ♦ That li, African. , ^ mountain. In Spain. 
 
 • That U, Alvar lanei Mlnaya. ^ lai'B^ « 
 
 I 
 
FRANKLIN. 
 
 131 
 
 rong! 
 
 tin, 
 liu, 
 
 Where his banner etrcaraed with its ghostly hVht 
 Where ma sword blazed out there w^ ij^^i^t 
 
 i or It seemed not the sword of man I 
 The field and the river grow darkly red. 
 Ab the kmgs and leaders of Afric fled • 
 ^ere was work for the men of the Cid that day. 
 They were weary at eve when they eeased to sky 
 As reapers whose task is done ! 
 
 The kings and the leaders of Afric fled I 
 
 The sails of their gaUeys in haste were spread • 
 
 But the sea had its share of the Paynim slain ' 
 
 bo the Old to his grave passed on! 
 
 t, ' 
 
 ar; 
 
 1. 
 
 jpi- 
 
 horse, 
 3e! 
 
 oroftheCld. 
 3ist the Moorish 
 
 icm. 
 
 attila* In Sp&in. 
 
 XIL— FEANKinr. 
 
 (Punch.) 
 
 .' ... «.,. »„„ p,^ ^ «"«.r,r.°.x rj^":- "«• ^™ 
 
 The Polar clouds uplifit— 
 
 A moment and no more-— 
 And through the snowy drift 
 
 We see them on the shore,— 
 
 A band of gallant hearts, 
 WeU-ordered, calm, and brave : 
 
 Braced for their closing parts- 
 Their long march to the grave. 
 
 Through the snow's dazzUng blink, 
 
 Into the dark they've gone :— 
 No pause : the weaker sink. 
 
 The strong can but strive' on, 
 
 Till all the dreary way 
 Is dotted with their dead; 
 
if^ "F'MlillUMl 
 
 132 
 
 f * til 
 
 It, 
 
 f 
 
 h\ 
 
 FRANKLIN. 
 
 And the shy foxes play 
 
 About each sleeping head- 
 Unharmed the wild deer nin, 
 To graze along the strand ; 
 Nor dread the loaded gun 
 Beside each sleeping hand. 
 
 The remnant that survive 
 Onward like drunkards reel ; 
 
 Scarce wotting if alive, 
 But for the pangs they feel. 
 
 The river of their hope 
 At length is drawing nigh— 
 
 Their snow-blmd way they grope, 
 And reach its banks to die! 
 
 Thank God, brave Franklin's place 
 Was empty in that band! 
 
 He closed his well-run race 
 Not on the iron strand. 
 
 Not under snow-clouds white, 
 By cutting frost-wind driven, 
 
 Did his true spirit fight 
 Its shuddering way to heaven; 
 
 But warm, aboard his ship, 
 With comfort at his side 
 
 And hope upon his lip. 
 The gallant Franklin died. 
 
 His heart ne'er ached to see 
 His much-loved sailors ta'en ; 
 
 His sailors' pangs were free 
 From their loved captain's pain. 
 
 But though in death apart. 
 They are together now ; 
 
 Calm,'each enduring heart- 
 Bright, each devoted brow! 
 
THE AVENGING CHILDE. 
 
 133 
 
 XnL-THE AVENGING CHILDE. 
 
 (lockhart.) 
 
 Hurrah ! hurrah ! avoid the way of the Avenging Chikle • 
 H horse zs swift as sands that drift-an Arab oAhe w^Td • 
 
 welrsr '""^ '" "'""" ^'"*^^ '""''"^^^ 
 
 And in his'hand, for deadly harm, a hunting knife he bears. 
 
 Avoid that knife in battle strife, that weapon short and thin ■ 
 
 The dragon's gore hath bathed it o'er, seven times 'twas 
 
 steeped therein ; ^o twds 
 
 ^'"^ to'^glx*^' """"^^ ^^^^ ^'"^'^ '^' ^'^^-'^ «"*« ^ ^o^lter 
 In France the blade was fashioned, from Spain the shaft it 
 
 He sharpens it, as he doth ride, upon his saddle-bow- 
 He sharpens it on either side, he makes the steel to glow 
 H ndes to find Don Quadros, that false and faitour' Sf 
 His glance of ire is hot as fire, although his cheek be white.' 
 
 He found him standing by the Idng, within the judgment- 
 He rushed within the barons' ring-he stood before them all 
 Seven times he gazed and pondered if he the deed should do • 
 
 d^geTflet"''^ '' '"''' ^^' ^'°"^^^*' *^- -' '^^ 
 
 He stabbed therewith at Quadros-the king did step between • 
 
 Heml^ ^" T^ g^^^«-t of purple wove with'greenT 
 He fell beneath the canopy, upon the tiles he lay. 
 Ihou traitor keen, what dost tlm,, m'^ar-th'- i'-,- -^i -- 
 wouldst thou slay?" ' " ^^'^ 
 
 ' VaRabond. 
 
 f 
 
 1 
 
 [ 
 
 
j 
 
 ,1ft 
 
 If M 
 
 lii 
 
 I I 
 
 i ? 
 
 134 
 
 THE AVENGING CHILBBI. 
 
 " Now, pardon, pardon," cried the Childe ; " I stabbed not, 
 
 king, at thee, 
 But him, that caitiflF, blood-defiled, who Btood beside thy 
 
 knee: 
 Eight brothers were we— in the land might none more loving 
 
 be- 
 They all are slain by Quadros' hand— they all are dead but 
 
 me. 
 
 " Good king, I fain would wash the stain— for vengeance is 
 
 my cry ; 
 This murderer with sword and spear to battle I defy." 
 But all took part with Quadros, except one lovely May,— 
 Except the king's fair daughter, none word for him would 
 
 say. 
 
 She took their hands, she led them forth into the court 
 
 below ; 
 She bade the ring be guarded, she bade the trumpet blow ; 
 From lofty place, for that stern race, the signal she did 
 
 throw— 
 "With truth and right the Lord will fight— together let 
 
 them go," 
 
 The one is up, the other down, the hunter's knife is bare ; 
 It cuts the lace beneath the face, it cuts through beard and 
 
 hair; . 
 
 Right soon that knife hath quenched his life— the head is 
 
 sundered sheer ; 
 Then gladsome smiled the Avenging Childe, and fixed it on 
 
 his spear. 
 
 But when the king beholds him bring that token of his truth. 
 Nor scorn nor wrath his bosom hath—" Kneel down, thou 
 
 noble youth ; 
 Kneel down, kneel down, and kiss my crown, I am no more 
 
 thy foe ; _ ^^ 
 
 iiiy uaUgiltUr UUW iliaj- paj tut tvtt sue pit^iU->^« ^^^o °^o-" 
 
 h 
 
BATTLE OP bunker's HILL. 
 
 135 
 
 XIV.-BATTIE OP BUNKER'S HILI. 
 
 (OOZZENS.) 
 
 This celebrated battle wai fouglit between fhn ro,«u»^ i 
 
 English troops in 177fi. The United Stl,L Americans and the 
 
 leMlnnumberthantheBrltl8h-b>ffh«f„ J ri '"'''" "'""'y " "'0"«'"'<1 
 and compelled to retr Jt V yet l.ri^^j"^'' '^°"«'' "'""^ 
 superior numbers, is a mtte of boasSth^ a'^ * '°"'/'"' ^"""^^'^ «*^«""" 
 
 Mr. Co/.ens Is an American writer. Americans to the present day. 
 
 ^r lC'^"-fl '" ^T''^' ''' ^^^ '''' --d Still, 
 
 WHen the minute-men" from Cambridge came and 
 
 gathered on the hill ; ° ' ^°*^ 
 
 Beneath ^us lay the sleeping town, around us frowned the 
 
 But the^pulse of freemen, not of slaves, within our bosoms 
 
 ^W^'Z^'"''^ T ^'^^ ""'^^ ^^°P^' a« f'^arlessly we said 
 We^wdl be numbered with the free, or numbered wXthe 
 
 " ^thrswarir"""' *' ""^ ''' *^'"^'' ^^'^ «*^^t^^ i* on 
 The trench is marked, the tools are brought, we utter mt a 
 
 """^^iTde,"""'' *''" ''^ '' ""^^ ^"''' ^'^'0^^ and 
 A thousand mei with sinewy arms, and not a sound is made- 
 So sWl were we, the stars beneath, that scarce a wllper' 
 
 T?,«i?i!f *^' """^ is breaking t the redls in the'sky : 
 
 The mist IS creeping from the stream that floats in silence by • 
 
 For tl^e mddy flash and round-shot part in thunder from her 
 And the ^a^con and the (7<?rA«-,« ir,o].n „, i.^... ,, .,, 
 
 Ui 
 
 I! ' 
 
-^'^^~:^S:- 
 
 136 BA.TTLE OF BUNKER's HILL. 
 
 But deep and wider grows the trench, as spade and mattock 
 
 ply, 
 For we have to cope with fearful odds, and the time is 
 
 drawing nigh ! 
 
 Up with the pine-tree banner! Our gallant Pkescott 
 
 stands 
 Amid the plunging shells and shot, and plants it with hia 
 
 hands ; 
 Up with the shout ! for Putnam comes upon his reeking bay, 
 With bloody spur and foamy bit, in haste to join the fray ; 
 And PoMEROY, with his snow-white hairs, and face all flush 
 
 and sweat. 
 Unscathed by French and Indian, wears a youthful glory yet. 
 
 But thou whose soul is glowing in the summer of thy years, 
 Unvanquishable Warren, thou, the youngest of thy peers, 
 Wert born and bred, and shaped and made, to act a patriot's 
 
 part, 
 And dear to us thy presence is as heart's blood to the heart ! 
 
 ***** 
 Hark! from the town a trumpet! The barges at the whart 
 Are'crowded with the living freight ; and now they're pushing 
 
 off: 
 With clash and glitter, trump and drum, in all its bright 
 
 array, 
 Behold the splendid sacrifice move slowly o'er the bay! 
 And still and still the barges fill, and still across the deep, 
 Like thunder-clouds along the sky, the hostile transports 
 
 sweep. 
 And now they're forming at the Point ; and now the lines 
 
 advance : 
 We see beneath the sultry sun their polished bayonets 
 
 glance ; 
 We hear a-near the throbbing drum, the bugle-challenge ring ; 
 Quick bursts and loud the flashing cloud, and rolls from 
 
 wing to wing ; 
 But ou the height our bulwark stands, tremendous in its 
 
 gloom, — 
 As sullen as a tropic sky, and silent as a tomb. 
 
i 
 
 BATTLE OF BUNKEB's HILL. 
 
 137 
 
 AJid so we waited till we saw, at scarce ten rifles' length, 
 a he old vindictive Suxon spite, in all its stubborn strength : 
 
 burst "'' ^'''^' ^""'"'"^ ^^^ •'''°°'^ "^""""P^"^ 
 
 From every gun the livid light upon the foe accursed, 
 lienquaileda monarch's might before afree-born people's ire- 
 Ihen drank the sward the veteran's life, where swept the 
 
 yeoman s fire. 
 
 Then, staggered by the shot, we saw their serried columns 
 reel, 
 
 And fall, as falls the bearded rye beneath the reaper's steel • 
 And then arose a miglity shout that might have waked the 
 dead — 
 
 "Hurrah! they run! the field is won! Hurrah! the foe 
 IS fled! 
 
 And every man hath dropped his gun to clutch a neighbour's 
 hand, ° 
 
 As his heart kept praying all the whUe for home and native 
 land. 
 
 Thrice on that day we stood the shock of thrice a thousand 
 loes. 
 
 And thrice that day within our lines the shout of victory rose • 
 And though our swift fire slackened then, and, reddenin- in' 
 the skies, 
 
 We saw from Charleston's roofs and waUs the flamy 
 columns rise. 
 
 Yet, while we had a cartridge left, we stiU maintained the 
 fight, 
 
 Nor gained the foe one foot of ground upon that blood- 
 stained height. 
 
 Wha^ though for us no laurels bloom nor o'er the nameless 
 brave 
 
 No sculptured trophy, scroll, nor hatch records a warrior 
 grave ! 
 
 "~ 'ss "io uttjr 1,0 US was lost I- -upon that deathless 
 
 page 
 
 The everlasting charter stands for every land and age I 
 
 Hi 
 
 tjj 
 
 

 •I 
 
 !l 
 
 138 
 
 BELSHAZZAE'S FEAST. 
 
 For man hath broke his felon bonds, and cast them in the 
 
 dust, 
 And claimed his heritage divine, and justified the trust ; 
 While through his rifted prison-bars the hues of freedom pour. 
 O'er every nation, race, and clime, on every sea and shore. 
 Such glories as the patriarch viewed, when, 'mid the darkest 
 
 skies. 
 He saw above a ruined world the Bow of Promise rise. 
 
 XV.- BELSHAZZAE'S FEAST. 
 
 (dkummond.) 
 
 On Belshaxzar'a Feast, seo Prophecies of Daniel, chapter y. 
 
 To the feast! to the feast!— 'tis the monarch a -nmands; 
 
 Secure in her strength the proud Babylon standi, 
 
 As reckless of all the high vaunts of the foe, 
 
 As of the weak zephyrs around her that blow ; 
 
 With her walls and her bulwarks all power she defies ; 
 
 Like the clifis of the mountain her turrets arise ; 
 
 And swift through her ramparts, so deep and so wide, 
 
 Euphrates now rolls his unfordable tide. 
 
 Then on to the feast,— 'tis the monarch commands ; 
 
 Secure in her strength the proud Babylon stands 1 
 
 With silver and gold are her treasuries stored. 
 And she smiles with disdain at the arrow and sword ; 
 With the choicest of wheat all her granaries teem. 
 Her oil and her wine in broad rivulets stream ; 
 For twenty long winters no famine she dreads. 
 For twenty long summers her banquet she spreads. 
 Then on to the feast, — 'tis the monarch commands ; 
 Secure in her strength the proud Babylon stands ! 
 
 A thousand bright cressets the palace illume, 
 A thousand rich censers are wafting perfume; 
 The festival halls heaped with luxury shine,— 
 High piled are the cates, deep flows the red wine ; 
 The fruits of a province the tables unfold, 
 The wealth of a kingdom there blazes in gold ; 
 
belshazzar's feast 
 
 in a fillet of gold round his temples are twinpr? • 
 In robes starred with jewels rosplendenS^ 
 He moves like a god, in a circle of light ^ 
 
 And now he has taken his seat at the board 
 
 While crowding m thousands the satraps o gay 
 
 Ki^fl-i'^^'?" ^""^""^ ^^ costly arrar 
 ^xulti ig like eaglets approaching the sun 
 
 By their stations are ranked, and the f2l is begun. 
 
 Now let the loud chorus of music ascend • 
 ThJZ""' ""^r"''' ^^^^ ^" insti-uments blend- 
 S hatL7 h V°'' "^'' *^^ cornet's shrm note 
 
 ^ cgn :^dS^;--r^^^^^ 
 s^:^:S£r[iio2d:. 
 
 Now let our high cheering re-echoing ring = ' 
 
 Our strength and our glory in city and field - 
 In peace our advisers, in battle our shield' 
 To them, mighty rulers of earth and of heaven 
 All honour ard power and dominion be dvin 
 By them shaU proud Babylon, towering sSe 
 Stand fast in her strength till the dotage of tS 
 
 Tn^r.r'"'? ^^^ ''^°^' ^ *Ji« festival hour 
 To the thoughts of his liPnrf, »,,,i x,,„ __ , ' . 
 
 The monarch desires "th7rTch;esstS oTgdd '" ''^''^ 
 The pride of high Salem, before she was sold, 
 
 139 
 
 
II- 
 
 ill 
 
 140 
 
 BELSHAZZAR'3 FEAST. 
 
 To be brought to the banquet. And now hands profane 
 
 And idolatrous lips their bright purity stain. , 
 
 All dim in the service of idols abhorred 
 
 Grows the chalice that once shone so bright to the Lord. 
 
 But, lo ! in the hand of the monarch it foams, 
 
 As his eye round the walls half-inebriate roams; 
 
 And, hark ! he exclaims, " This fair chalice so proud 
 
 Was once that Jehovah's whose throne is a cloud ; 
 
 But, by Babylon torn from his temple and shrine, 
 
 Is consecrate now to her glory and minel 
 
 Ye satraps — " 
 
 Amazement !— 'tis dashed from his hand. 
 As if struck by some potent invisible wand. 
 His soul what dire horror has suddenly wrung, 
 That palsies his nerves and relaxes his tongue '< 
 His visage grows pale with the hues of despair, 
 And his eye-balls congeal with an ominous glare ; 
 For see ! on the wall what strange characters rise > -— 
 Some sentence transcribed from the book of the skies 
 By fingers immortal ! How suddenly still 
 Grows the noise of the banquet!— all fear-struck and 
 
 chill 
 Sit the revellers now ; bound up is their breath, 
 As though tl-ey had felt the cold vapour of death. 
 All dimmed is the glory that beamed round the throne. 
 And the god sits the vic'^^L" of terrors unknown. 
 At length words find utterance--" Oh haste, hither call 
 The Augurs, Chaldeans, Astrologers, all! 
 Whoever that sentence shall read and expound, 
 A chain of bright gold on his neck shall be bound ; 
 The third of my realm to lis power I bestow, 
 And the purple of kings on his shoulders shall glow." 
 
 The Astrologers come ; but their science is vain ; 
 Those characters dark may no mortal explain, 
 Save one who to idols ne'er humbled his heart,— 
 Some Seer to whom God shall his Spirit impart. 
 And that one exists— of the captives a sage, 
 Now grey with the honours and wisdom of age — 
 
 I ■ 
 
r.ELgHAZZAK'8 tKAST. 141 
 
 A Hebiew, a prophet— to him it is given 
 
 To read and resolve the dark counsels of Heaven. 
 
 "Oh haste! let that sage this strange secret unfold 
 And his be my power with the purple and gold." 
 
 While the king and his nobles, distracted in thought. 
 1 heir doubts are revolving, the captive is brought : 
 mt not in that visage and not in that eye 
 A captive's dejection and gloom they descry 
 For he breathes as he moves, a.U the ardour'of youth. 
 The high soul of freedom, the courage of truth 
 bee er his warm features and round his fau: head 
 A glory divine seems its radiance to shed ; 
 And that eye's coruscation, so rapid and bright, 
 Shoots deep to the soul, like an arrow of light • 
 Not even the monarch its frenzy can brook ' 
 But he bows to the prophet, averting his look : 
 For the Spirit of God on that prophet is shed. 
 The page of the future before him is spread; 
 In his high-panting heart what rapt fervour he feels. 
 While the truths that inspire him his language reveals! 
 
 " Thy gifts, king, I reck not; now, now is the hour. 
 When the spoiler shaU come-when the sword must 
 devour! 
 
 Oh, why have cursed idols of wood and of stone 
 Gamed thy homage-the right of Jehovah alone? 
 Why yet glows thy heart with idolatrous fire 
 Untaught by the judgments that humbled thy sire 
 When driven to herd with the beasts of the wUd ' 
 lill Ins pride was subdued and his spirit grew mild? 
 Now caU on thy idols thy arms to prepare- 
 They see not thy peril, they hear not thy prayer. 
 Where now is thy Belus, when Babylon caUs, 
 lo scathe the proud foes that beleaguer thy walls? 
 Consumed by that breath which all might can confound, 
 
 riis snnnes and his temnlps nnw ctvi^v^ «« fi, , ' 
 
 While thy haughty blasphemings against the Most High 
 Invoke an avenger ;-and, lo ! he is nigh. ^ 
 
 ii '.,■'! 
 
 ■ I 
 
 
 1- 
 i 
 
 
 -' ^ 
 
HSU 
 
 142 
 
 THK CAVES OF DAUllA. 
 
 
 i;l^' 
 
 I 
 
 ^i 
 
 in? 
 
 4) 
 
 1 1 
 
 This night— nay, thia hour— tho hist sand in thy glass 
 
 Away with thy life and thy kingdom sliall pass. 
 
 In that writing bohold tho acrnal decree,— 
 
 The sentence of God on thy ampiro and thee : 
 
 Thou art weighed in the balance of Justice supreme, 
 
 And light art thou found aa tlic dust on the beam ; 
 
 The wind of destruction to empty thy land, 
 
 And the fanners, to fan her witli fire, are at hand. 
 
 Afar from thy ramparts, Euphrates aside. 
 
 In the lake of the Queen, is now rolling his tide ; 
 
 And tlirough liia dried chounol tho keen Persian lance, 
 
 With the red toBch of ruin, and Cyrus advance. 
 
 E'en now shouts of triumph are rending the air, 
 
 The revels of joy turn to shrieks of despair. 
 
 Hark ! the din at the gates of tho hostile array ! 
 
 The fierce axe of battle is hewing its way; 
 
 Thy captains and nobles are falling in gore 
 
 And thy reign and thy life, hapless monarch, are o'erl" 
 
 XVI.-THE CAVES OP DAHEA; OE, "VIVE LA GUEEEE." 
 
 A WAR-SONO rOR THE FRENOH I» ALQIEBS. 
 
 (PHNOU.) 
 
 For explanation see Troso Extracts, pp. 26 and 70. 
 
 Dahea's caverns hidden hide tho Arabs, and delay 
 
 To yield when they are bidden : so cries brave Pelissier,— 
 
 " Bring fagots of fierce fuel 1 Frenchmen checked by Arab 
 
 slaves ! 
 We'll have a vengeance cruel 1 Roast them in their sacred 
 
 caves ! 
 We'll make their fond trust falter 1 Cast in fagots 1 Let 
 
 them flare, 
 Till vengeance hath an dtar fitly furnished 1 Vive la GueneP' 
 
 Rush the sparks in rapid fountains up abroad into the sky ! 
 From the bases of the mountains leap the forked fiamea 
 mountains high 1 
 
THK CAVES OF DAIIRA. 
 
 143 
 
 Thoflamcs,-like devils thirsting, like the wind, when crack- 
 ling spars 
 
 Wage hellish warfare, worsting all the .tiU. astonished stars t 
 
 Ply the furnace, fling the fagots ! lo, the flames writhe. 
 
 nish, and tear ! ' 
 
 And a thousand writhe like maggots in among them 1 Vive 
 la Guerre/ 
 
 ^^'dtuthf* ^"^'' ''' ^°"^^"^ ^° ^"'^ °"*' ^' gl«* it« 
 
 "^'TateiTiar: ""' ""' ^^' ^^^^^--i^^^y battle. 
 
 m^rf^f.rwr^^^^ '^' ^"^'^0^ ^^y soar. 
 
 Ks sLeT ' ''^ '^ *^^^' ^ ^^^ ^-°^' °- ^°^^ 
 
 '^''^'umtf''*^'^'"^'' Bring more fagots! Ft., ^a 
 
 "^'^the'day.^^'" *^' ^'''°'°^' ^°°^ where yonder comes 
 Hark^^signala for adjourning our brave sport. We must 
 
 But be^ sure the slaves are weary !-as the short and sob-like 
 
 Of gusts on moorlands dreary float their sinking voices by - 
 
 men darT '°'' °^'^"'^°' '~^'' "' show what French- 
 
 '''tn;^^:att '''-' ^''' ■ ^^^^'^^°^' -^^^^- — . 
 
 ""' spat W'"" "^ thick'ningl-here's that hath 
 How its horny eyes are staring on that infant -^pV^n- <-ood 
 
 h n^ 
 
 1 
 •i 
 
144 
 
 TUB CAVES OF DAnRA. 
 
 itii 
 
 'i. 
 
 i.^ii 
 
 I) 
 
 i 
 
 At our work do any wonder, Baying, " Frenchmen love the 
 
 fair?" 
 Such "fair?" Ha! ha! they bhmder who thus twit ubI 
 
 Vive la Guorel 
 
 What's that, so tall and meagre ?— Nay, bold Frenclimen, do 
 
 not shrink ! — 
 'Tis a corpse, witli features eager jammed for air into a chink. 
 Whence is that hysteric sobbing?— nay, bold Frenchmen, do 
 
 not draw I 
 •Tis an Arab's parched throat throbbing. Frenchmen love 
 
 sweet mercy's law ;— 
 Make way there ! Give him breathing ! How he smiles to 
 
 feel the air! 
 His breath seems incense wreathing to sweet Mercy ! Vive 
 
 la Giurre! 
 
 And now, to crown our glory, get we trophies to display 
 As vouchers for our story, and mementos of this day 1 
 Once more then to the grottoes! gather eacli one all ho 
 
 can — 
 Blistered blade with Arab mottoes, spear head, bloody yata- 
 ghan. 
 Give room now to the raven and the dog, who scent rich 
 
 fare; 
 And let these words be gra . on on the rock side— ' Vxve la 
 
 Gueire!" 
 
 The trumpet sounds for marching ! on, alike amid sweet 
 
 meads, . , j , 
 
 Morass, or desert parching, whoresoe'er our captain lends! 
 To Pelissier sing praises ! praises sing to bold Bugeaud ! 
 Lit up by last night's blazes to all time their names will 
 
 show ! 
 Cry " Conquer, kill, and ravage!" Never ask, " Who, what, 
 
 or where 1" 
 If civilized or savage, never heed, but— Fiw la Guerre. 
 
on love the 
 IS twit uhI 
 
 snchnien, do 
 
 into a chink, 
 enchmcn, do 
 
 iclimen love 
 
 he smiles to 
 
 [ercy ! Vive 
 
 display 
 B dayl 
 
 cue all he 
 
 bloody yata- 
 ho scent rich 
 ,e— " Vive la 
 
 amid sweet 
 
 )tain lends! 
 Bugeaud ! 
 ir names will 
 
 " WTio, what, 
 
 1 Guerrt. 
 
 ClUnOE OF THE LICIIT LRIOADB. ] 4-, 
 
 X7U.-CHAEQE OF THE LIGHT BEIOADE. 
 
 (ALPRKD TKNNTSOV.) 
 
 For explunatloii .ue Piuse !■ xtracts, p n 
 
 Half a Jcagtic, half a league, 
 Half a league onward, 
 
 All in the valley of death 
 Rode the six liundrod. 
 
 "Forward the Light Brigade! 
 Charge for the guna," lie said ; 
 Into the valley of dcatli 
 Kode tlie six hundred. 
 
 "Forward the Light Brigade!" 
 Was there a man dismaj^id ? 
 Not though the soldier knew 
 Some one had blnndored : 
 Theirs not to • mKo ,'ply,' 
 Theirs not lu reason why, 
 Theirs but to do and die • 
 Into the valley of death 
 Rode the six hundred. 
 
 Cannon to right of them, 
 Cannon to left of them, 
 Cannon in front of them, 
 Volleyed and thundered ; 
 Stormed at M-ith shot and shell, 
 Boldly they rode and well. 
 Into the jaws of death. 
 Into the mouth of hell 
 Rode the six hundred. 
 
 Flashed all their sabres bare, 
 Flashed as they turned in air, 
 Sabring the gunners there, 
 (86) 10 
 
 P J 
 
 l«!sfi- ' 
 
Utf 
 
 . I 
 
 SCENE BEFORE THE SIEGE OF CORINTfl. 
 
 Charging an army, while 
 All the world wondered ; 
 Plunged in the batt'ry smoke, 
 Right through the line they broke ," 
 Cossack and Russian 
 Reeled from the sabre stroke 
 Shattered and sundered : 
 Then they rode back, but not— 
 Not the six hundred. 
 
 Cannon to right of them, 
 Cannon to left of them. 
 Cannon behind them. 
 Volleyed and thundered ; 
 Stormed at with shot and shell, 
 While horse and hero fell, 
 They that had fought so well 
 Came through the jaws of death 
 Back from the mouth of hell, 
 All that was left of them. 
 Left of Six Hundred. 
 
 When can their glory fade 1 
 Oh ! the wild charge they made ! 
 All the world wondered. 
 Honour the charge they made 1 
 Honour the Light Brigade, 
 Noble Six Hundred ! 
 
 i 
 
 » ,1 
 
 
 XVIII.-SCENE BEFOBE THE SIEGE OP CORINTH. 
 
 (BYRON.) 
 
 Corlntli a city famous in ancient times, i8 situated on the Gulf of Lepnnto, The 
 cltaJel Is noted for its gitNit height above the plain. The siege .pokou of uj 
 the poem took place in 1715 a.p. 
 
 The night is past, and shines the sun 
 As if that morn were a jocund one. 
 Li"htly and brightly breaks away 
 The Morning from her mantle grey, 
 And the Noon will look on a sultry day.— 
 
 i 
 
SCENE BEFORE THE SIEGE OF CORINTH. I47 
 
 Hark to the trump and the dmm 
 And the mournful sound of the birbarous horn. 
 And the flap of the banners that flit as they're borne 
 And the neigh of the steed and the multitude's hum 
 
 Tl?« i f ^' ^"'^ *?' f ^'"* " '^^'y «°«^« •' they come i" 
 
 Ihe horse-tails are plucked from the ground, and the sword 
 
 From Its sheath ; and they form and but wait for the wo 
 
 The steeds are all bridled, and snort to the rein • 
 
 Curved IS each neck and flowing each mane ; ' 
 
 White IS the foam of their champ on the bit — 
 
 Ihe spears are uplifted; the matches are lit " 
 
 1 he cannon are pointed and ready to roar ' 
 
 And crush the wall they have crumbled before — 
 
 l^orms m his phalanx each Janizar 
 
 Alp at their head ; his right arm is'bare. 
 
 bo IS the blade of his scimitar • 
 
 The Khan and the Pachas are all at their post ; 
 
 I he Vizier himself at the head of the host. 
 
 When the culverin's signal is fired, then on 1 
 licave not m Corinth a living one- 
 A priest at her altars-a chief in her halls- 
 A hearth in her mansions-a stone on her walls 
 Heaven and the Prophet— Alia Hu ' 
 Up to the skies with that wild haUoo i" 
 As the wolves that headlong ^o 
 On the stately bufialo, ° " 
 Tliough with fiery ey-Bs and angry roar 
 And hoofs that stamp and horns that gore 
 He tramples on earth, or tosses on high ' 
 The foremost who rush on his strength but to die • 
 1 hus against the wall they went. 
 Thus the first were backward bent • 
 Even as they fell, in files they lay. ' 
 Like the mower's grass at the close of day 
 When his work is done on the levelled plain - 
 Such was the faU of the foremo':t slain ' 
 
 As the spring-tides with heavA- plash 
 From thft nUffa ,*,,,Tofi;i,~ j^-i- ' 
 
 Huge fragments sapped by the ceaseless flow. 
 an white and thundering down they go— 
 
 ' I 
 
 f " 
 
 
 '^1 
 
 "f1 
 
 ■ 
 
-rrr' 
 
 n . 
 
 h 
 
 148 SCENE AFTER THE STEGE OF CORINTH. 
 
 Like tlie avalanclio's suow 
 
 Ou the Alpine vales below— 
 
 ThiiB at length, out-breathed and worn, 
 
 Corinth's sons were downward borne 
 
 By the long and oft-renewed 
 
 Charge of the Moslem multitude. 
 
 In firmness they stood and in masses they tell, 
 
 Heaped by the host of the Infidel, 
 
 Hand to hand and foot to foot : 
 
 Nothing there save death was mute ; 
 
 Stroke and thrust, and flash and cry 
 
 For quarter or for victory. ,,,,,, , -u 
 
 From the point of encountering blade to the hUt 
 
 Sabres and swords with blood were gilt :— 
 
 But the rampart is won-and the spoil begun- 
 
 And all, but the after-carnage, done. 
 
 Shriller shrieks now mingling come 
 
 From within the plundered dome. 
 
 Hark, to the haste of flying feet, 
 
 That splash iu the blood of the slippery street ! 
 
 XIX.-SCENE AFTER THE SIEGE OP CORINTH. 
 
 (btron.) 
 
 Alp wandered on along the beach. 
 
 Till within the range of a carbine's reach 
 
 Of the leagueicd wall; but they eaw hnu not 
 
 Or how could he 'scape from the hostile shot t 
 
 Did traitors lurk in the Christians' hold 1 
 
 Were their hands grown stiff, or their hearts waxed coldl 
 
 I know not, in sooth ; but from yonder wall 
 
 There flashed no fire and there hissed no ball. 
 
 Though he stood beneath the bastion's frown 
 
 That flanked the sea-ward gate of the town ; • 
 
 Though he heard the sound, and could almost tuU 
 
 The sullen words of tlie sentinel, 
 
 As his measured step on the stone below 
 
 Clanked, as he paced it to and fro : 
 
 it 
 
VVL 
 
 SCEXE AI.-T>:R the siege of CORINTH, 
 
 M9 
 
 fell, 
 
 ■•;s' 
 
 he hilt 
 
 L'un- 
 
 trcet ! 
 
 COEINTH, 
 
 .1 not, 
 shot i 
 
 iaits wuxed cold t 
 
 svall 
 
 ) ball, 
 
 rowu 
 
 )wn ; 
 
 [iliuost toll 
 
 w 
 
 And he saw the lean dogs beneath the wall 
 Hold o'er the dead their carnival, 
 
 Trorging and growling o'er carcass and limb;— 
 
 They were too busy to bark at him ! 
 
 From a Tartar's skull they had stripped the flesh 
 
 As ye peel tlie fig wlien its fruit is fresh ; 
 
 And their white tusks crunched o'er the whiter skull 
 
 As It slipped through their jaws when their edge grei dull 
 
 As they lazily mumbled the bones of the dead 
 
 When they scarce could rise from the spot where they fc.l • 
 
 ^0 well had they broken a lingering fast 
 
 With those who had fallen for that night's repast 
 
 And AJp knew, by the turbans that rolled on the sand. 
 
 Ihe foremost of these were the best of his bund 
 
 The scalps were in the wild dog's maw, 
 
 The hair was t.i :led round his jaw. 
 
 But close . ' shore, on the edge of the gulf, 
 
 There sa , :,ure flapping a wolf, 
 
 Who had btoien from the hills, but kept away 
 Scared by the dogf?, from the human prey ; ' 
 But he seized on his share of a steed that iay, 
 Pecked by the birds, on the sands of the bay f 
 
 Alp turned him from the sickening sight : 
 Never had shaken his nerves in fight ; 
 But he better could brook to behold the dying 
 Deep in the tide of their warm blood lyin^r 
 Scorched with tJie death-thirst, and writhing in vain. 
 Ihan the perishing dead who are past all pain 
 -There is something of pride in the perilous hour, 
 ^ hate er be the shape in which death may lour ; 
 For Fame is there to say who bleeds, 
 And Honour's eye on daring deeds ! ' 
 But when all is past, it is humbling to tread 
 er the weltering field of the tombless dead, 
 And see worms of the earth and fowls of the air, 
 Beasts of the forest, all gathering there, 
 All regarding man as their prey, 
 All rejoicing in his decoy ! 
 
 i I 
 
 I .ivm 
 
•"~- • ••~- 
 
 160 
 
 LAY OF VIUGINIA. 
 
 Yt 
 
 .1 1 
 
 F3I 
 
 V- ' 
 
 XX.-LAY OF VIRGINIA. 
 
 (lord UAOAUIiAT.) 
 
 Avplus Claudius, one of the Decemviri, had cliiiiiicrt, as his Rlavc, Vlrt;iiiia, 
 daughter of the plebeian Virginius; but the girl's father, wishing to save her 
 from the Ignominy which awaited her, and seeing no hope of redress by legal 
 rrocc«s, stabbed her in despair, as described in the lay. loilius, the tribune, 
 had been betrothed to the murdered maiden. The time is •l-l!) u.c. 
 
 Over the Alban mountains tlie light of morning broke ; 
 From all the roofs of the Seven Hills curled the thin wreaths 
 
 of smoke : 
 The city gates were opened ; the Forura, all alive 
 With buyers and with sellers, was humming like a hive : 
 Blithely on brass and timber the craftsman's stroke was 
 
 ringing, 
 And blithely o'er her panniers the market-girl was singing ; 
 And blithely young Virginia came smiling from her home— 
 Ah ! woe for young Virginia, the sweetest maid in Rome. 
 With her small tablets in her hand, and her satchel on her 
 
 arm, 
 Forth she went bounding to the school, nor dreamed of shame 
 
 or harm. 
 She crossed the Forum shining with the stalls in alleys 
 
 gay. 
 
 And just had reached the very spot whereon 1 stand this 
 
 day. 
 When up the varlet Marcus came ; not such as when, ere- 
 
 while, 
 He crouched behind his patron's heels, with the true client 
 
 smile : 
 He came with lowering forehead, swollen features, and 
 
 clenched fist, 
 And strode across Virginia's path, and caught her by the 
 
 wrist. 
 Hard strove the frighted maiden, and screamed with look 
 
 Qnrl-inHf— 
 •-0 
 
 And at her scream from right and left the folk came running 
 fust; 
 
LAY OF VIKGINIA. jgj 
 
 And the strong smith Mur'pm .m^r^ t\t 
 
 Thft PnJfiff ,«.i iTi ^*^"^^"a yjivc Marcus such a Mow 
 
 ine caititt reeled three paces bapV nnri i„+ *i * "^"w, 
 
 Yet ^a.d he «.ce„ i/^^^^dS. Shfr., 
 " She's mine, and I will huve her •— T ^^Poh K„f f 
 
 u j.™ .1. ..rt. a. ,11., .^ j,„„;»i, __,^_._ 
 
 " """ ^'™ "^ '""' F- 'W, did L„„e™ 
 For thh wa, ae great vengeance wrought on Tarquin', evil 
 For tti, did those faUe sons make rod the a.e, of their 
 
 sl'Lm '"^, l'""*' "«" '"""• '■" in theTusean fire J 
 fehalUhe v„e fo.-earth awo the race that .tor^ed ths f™', 
 
 Shalj^we, who e„„ld not brook one lord, croueh to the wieked 
 
 Oh for that ancient spirit which curbed the Senate's wil? i 
 
 rKvsenttheha,.ght;estClaudi„s™;Jth1,S/rstr;'' 
 
 tii 
 
 * 111 
 
 
 I 
 
 
 I 
 
1S2 
 
 LAY OF VIUOINIA. 
 
 
 113 
 
 «»i 
 
 But what their care bequeathed us, our madness flung away: 
 All the ripe frv.it of three-score years isbhghted in a day. 
 Kxult, yo proud Tatricians! the hard-fought fi«ht is o er : 
 We strove for houour-'twas in vain : for freedom- tis no 
 
 more. , , , ., 
 
 Our very hearts, that were so high, sink down beneath your 
 
 will: , ,, 
 
 Riches and lands and power and stato,-ye have them- 
 
 keep them still ! 
 Still keep the holy fillets ; still keep the purple gown, 
 The axes and the curule chair, the car and laurel crown ; 
 Still press us for your cohorts, and, when the fight is dono 
 Still fill your garners from the soil which our good s word.s 
 
 have won ; , r. t. 
 
 Still like a spreading ulcer which leech-craft may not cure, 
 Let your foul usance eat away the substance of the poor ; 
 Still let your haggard debtors bear all their fathers bore; 
 Still let your dens of torment be noisome as of yore ;— 
 No fire, when Tiber freezes ; no air, in dog-star heat 
 And store of rods for free-born backs, and holes for free-born 
 
 feet; ,.„ ^, . 
 
 Hoap heavier still the fetters, bar closer still the grate ; 
 Patient as sheep we yield us up unto your cruel hate :- 
 But, by the Shades beneath us, and by the Gods above, 
 Add not unto your cruel hate your yet more cruel love ! 
 Have ye not graceful ladies, whose spotless lineage sp-ings 
 From Consuls, and high Pontiffs, and ancient Alban Kings] 
 Ladies, who deign not on our paths to set their tender 
 
 feet — ,, , 
 
 Who from their cars look down with scorn upon the wonder- 
 ing street— , ■, i i n 
 Who in Corinthian mirrors their own proud smiles behold. 
 And breathe of Capuan odours, and shine with Spanish 
 
 gold? , . . rr 
 
 Then leave the poor Plebeian his single tie to lite- 
 Tlie sweet, sweet love of daughter, of sister, and of wife- 
 The gentle speech, the balm for all that his vexed soul 
 
 endurcp,- 
 The kiss, in w 
 yours ! 
 
 Inch he half forgets even such a yoke as 
 
 i 
 
 i 
 
LAY OF VIRGhVU. 
 
 LOG 
 
 1 flung away; 
 1 ia a day. 
 [lit is o'er : 
 iloin— 'tis uo 
 
 beneath your 
 
 have them— 
 
 3 gown, 
 •el crown ; 
 Ight is dor;?, 
 ■ good swordfj 
 
 lay not cure, 
 (f the poor ; 
 ithers bore ; 
 f yore ;— 
 T heat 
 S3 for free-born 
 
 )he grate ; 
 lel hate : — • 
 )ds above, 
 cruel love ! 
 neage springs 
 ; Alban Kings ? 
 it their tender 
 
 on the wonder- 
 smiles behold, 
 with Spanish 
 
 ) life- 
 
 and of wifo — 
 
 his vexed soul 
 
 luch a yoke as 
 
 Spare us the inexpiable wrong, the unutterable shame. 
 That turns the coward's licurt to steel, the sluggard's blood 
 
 to flame ; 
 Lost, when our latest hope is fled, ye taste of our despair, 
 And learn, by proof, in some wild hour, how much the 
 
 wretched dare !" 
 
 * * * ♦ 
 
 Straightway Virginius led the maid a little space aside, 
 To where the reeking shambles stx»od, piled up witli horn 
 
 and hide ; 
 Close to yon low dark archway, where, in a crimson floor]. 
 Leaps down to the great sewer tlio gurgling stream of blood. 
 Hard by, a flesher on a block had laid his whittle down— 
 Virginius caught the whittle up, and hid it in his gown ; 
 And then his eyes grew very dim, and his tliroat began to 
 
 swell. 
 
 And in a hoarse, changed voice he spake, " Farewell, sweet 
 
 child, farewell ! 
 Oh ! how I loved my darling ! Though stern I sometimes be, 
 To thee, thou k-.ov/'st, T was not so. "WHio could be so to thee ] 
 And how my darling lov^d me ! How glad she was to hear 
 My footstep on tlie threshold, when I came back Inst year! 
 And how she danced with pleasure to sec my civic crown, 
 And took my sword and hung it up, and brougiit me forth 
 
 my gown. 
 Now, all those things are over— yes, all thy pretty ways— 
 Thy needlework, thy prattle, thy snatches of old lays; 
 And none will grieve when I go forth, or smile when I re- 
 turn. 
 Or watch beside the old man's bed, or weep upon his urn : 
 The house that was the happiest within the Roman walls. 
 The house that envied not the wealth of Capua's marble 
 halls, 
 
 Xow for the brightness of thy smile, must have eternal 
 
 gloom. 
 And for the music of thy voice, the silence of the tomb. 
 The time is come! See, how he points his eager hand tljis 
 
 way ! 
 
 Sec, how hm eyes gloat on thy grief, like a kite's ni)on the 
 prey I 
 
 1 1 
 
 liljl 
 
 
 '. .:«' 'M 
 
 Hi 
 
 1 
 
 !:« 
 
1 
 
 ! ! 
 
 's^M 
 
 I 
 
 lii 
 
 lfi4 
 
 LAY OF VIRGINIA. 
 
 With all his wit he little deems, that, spurncil, betrayed, 
 
 bereft. 
 Thy father hath, in hia despair, one fearful refuge loft. 
 He little deems that in this hand I clutch what still can save 
 Thy gentle youth from taunts and blows, the portion of tlie 
 
 slave ; 
 Y(!a, and from nameless evil, that posscth taunt and blow- 
 Foul outrage, which thou knowest not, which thou shalt 
 
 never know ! 
 Then clasp me round the neck ol e more, and give mo ono 
 
 more kiss ; 
 And now, mine own dear little girl, there is no way— but 
 
 this!" 
 --With that he lifted high the steel, and smote her m tne sule, 
 And in her blood she sank to earth, and with one sob she 
 
 died ! , , 
 
 When Appius Claudius saw that deed, ho shuddered and 
 
 sank down, . 
 
 And hid his face some little space with the corner of his 
 
 gown, 
 Till, with white lips and blood-shot eyes, Virginius tottered 
 
 And stood before the judgment-seat and held the knife on 
 
 high: 
 " Oh ! dwellers in the nether gloom, avengers of the slain, 
 By this dear blood I cry to you, do right between ns twain ; 
 And even as Appius Claudius hath dealt by me and raine.^ 
 Deal you by Appius Claudius, and all the Claudian line ! " 
 -So spake the slayer of his child, and turned and went his 
 
 But first'he cast one haggard glance to where the body lav 
 And writhed, and groaned a fearful groan, and then with 
 
 steadfast feet i c*. *. 
 
 Strode right fccross the market-place into the Sacred btreet. 
 Then up sprang Appius Claudius : " Stop him ; alive or dead 
 Ten thousand pounds of copper to the man who brmgs his 
 
 head!" , ,. ... 
 
 He looki^d upon his clients: but none would work his will : 
 He looked upon his lietors; but they trembled aud stou.J 
 
 still; 
 
} 
 
 I, betrayed, 
 
 B loft. 
 
 ill can save 
 
 •tion of the 
 
 and blow— 
 thou shalt 
 
 ive mo one 
 
 way— but 
 
 r in tuc siilo, 
 one sob she 
 
 iddercd and 
 
 orner of his 
 
 lius tottered 
 
 the knife on 
 
 f the slain, 
 en us twain ; 
 
 1 and mine, 
 dian line ! " 
 md went his 
 
 he body lav 
 [id then with 
 
 lacred Street, 
 alive or dead 
 10 brings his 
 
 ork his will : 
 led and stood 
 
 TIIK FATK OP MACOUKnOR. J/J.^ 
 
 And as VifKinuis through the press his way in silmice cleft 
 hvor the mighty multitude foil back to ri<dit and left • ' 
 A rid he hath passed in safety unto his woful home 
 And there ta'en horse to tell the Camp what dceds'arc done 
 in Konic. 
 
 XXI.-THE FATE OP MACGREGOR. 
 
 (hooo.) 
 
 Jumcs Hogg, "The Ettiick Sl.cpherd," wa« bora In the Vulo of iiUiick. Selkl.k. 
 shire, about 1770. He died in 1835. 
 
 " Rlacgregor, Macgrcgor, remember our foomon ' 
 The moon rises broad from the brow of Ben-Lomond 
 I he clans are impatient and chide thy delay ; 
 Arise ! let us bound to Glen-Lyon away." 
 
 Stern scowled the Macgregor, then, silent and sullen 
 He turned his red eyes to the braes rf Strathfillan ; 
 ''Go, Malcolm, to sleep, let the clans be dismissed; 
 Tlie Campbells this night for Macgregor must rest.'"-- 
 " Macgregor, Macgregor, our scouts have been flyin<' 
 Three days round the hills of M'Nab and Glen-Lyon ; " 
 Of riding and running such tidings they bear, 
 We must meet them at home, else they'll quickly be here." 
 
 "The Campbell may come, as his promises bind him 
 And haughty M'Nab with his giants behind hun; 
 This night I am bound to relinquish the fray. 
 And do what it freezes my vitals to say :— 
 Forgive me, dear brother, this horror of mind ; 
 Thou know'st in the strife I was never behind, 
 Nor ever receded a foot from the van, 
 Or blanched at the ire or the prowess of man ; 
 But I've sworn by the cross, by my God, and by all ! 
 An oath which I cannot and dare not recall,— 
 Ere the shadows of midnight fall east rrom the pile 
 To meet with a spirit this night in Glen-GyJo 
 T "?;^^*/"8^'* '^ fy chamber, all thoughtful and lone, 
 . callott to remembrance some deeds I had done, 
 When entered a lady with visage so wan, 
 And looks such as never were fastened on mun. 
 
 . ii 
 
 
 Si, 
 
 Ilii 
 
"WMMi 
 
 f 
 
 InC, 
 
 THK FATC OF MACORKGOR. 
 
 ill 
 
 !iii 
 
 Hi! 
 
 ;if ! 
 
 f 
 
 I knew her, brother, I knew licr full well ! 
 
 Of that once fair name such a tale I could tell 
 
 As would thrill thy bold heart ;— but how lonj; she remainod, 
 
 So racked was my spirit, my boBom bo pained, 
 
 I know not, but ages seem short to the while. 
 
 Though, protfer the HighhiudH, nay, all the green IkIc. 
 
 With length of existence no nvan can enjoy, 
 
 The same to endure, the droad prolhsr I'd fly ' 
 
 The thrice threatened pangs uf last nitiiit to foregi*. 
 
 lilacgregor would dive to the mansiont. below. 
 
 Despairing and mad, to futurity bliml. 
 
 The present to shun and some respite to find, 
 
 I swore, ere the shadow fell cast from the pile, 
 
 To meet her alone by the brook of Glcn-Gylo. 
 
 " She told me, and turned my chilled heart to a stone, 
 The glory nnd name of Macgregor were gone ; 
 That the pine which for ages had shed a bright halo 
 Afar on the mountains of Highland Gleu-Falo, 
 Should wither and fall cro the turn of yon moon, 
 Smit through by the canki'r of hated Ci)lquh()un; 
 That a feast on Macgregors each day should be common 
 For years to the eagles of Lennox and Lomond. 
 
 " A parting embrace in one moment «he gave,— 
 Her breath was a furnace, her bosom the gr;ivo ; 
 Then flitting illusive, she said, with a frown, 
 • The mighty Macgregor shall yet be my own !' " 
 "Macgregor, thy fancies are wild as the win(l 
 The dreams of the night have disordered thy mind ; 
 Come, buckle thy panoply— march to the field. 
 See, brother, how hacked are tliy helmet ur.d shield. 
 Ay,' that was M'Nab in the height of his pride. 
 When the lions of Dochart stood firm by his side. 
 This night the proud chief his presumption shall rue : 
 Kise, brother, these chinks in his heart-blood will glue : 
 Thy fantasies frightful shall fiit on the wing, 
 W'.-.cn loud with thy bugle Glen-Lyon shall ring." 
 
 Like glimpse of the moon through the storm of the night, 
 Macgregor s rod eye shed one sparkle of light : 
 jt f.°fie{l_it darkened —he shuddercd-he sighed,— 
 " No ! not for the universe '■ " low he replied. 
 
THE FATE OF MACQREaoU, 
 
 167 
 
 rcmainoti, 
 
 n ifilf', 
 
 '«'». 
 
 ) a stoiio, 
 lialo 
 
 n, 
 
 I common 
 
 .1 
 lind ; 
 
 Ihield. 
 
 ide. 
 
 all rue : 
 will s^lue : 
 
 n of the iiij;ht', 
 I'led,- 
 
 Away weut Macyregor, but went uot alone : 
 To watch the dread rendezvous Malcolm lia.s yone 
 They oared the broad Lomond so still and sereuo 1 
 And deep in her bosom how awful the scene ! 
 O'er mountains inverted the blue waters curled, 
 And rocked them on skiea of a tar nether world 
 
 All silent they went, for the time was approachiii- - 
 1 he moon the blue zenith already was touching ; °' 
 No foot was abroad on the forest or hill, 
 No sound but the lullaby suny by the rill ■ 
 Young Malcolm, at distance, crouched treinblin<' the while- 
 Macgregor stood lone by the brook of Glen-Gyle. 
 
 F(nv minutes had passed ere they spied on the stream 
 A skitf sailiii<,r light, where a lady did seem ; 
 Her sail was the web f,f the gossamer's loom', 
 The glow-worm hur wakelight, the rainbow her boom; 
 A dim raylcss beam was her prow and her mast, 
 Like wold-fire at midnight that glares on the waste. 
 Tliough rough was the river with rock and cascade, 
 No torrent, no rock, her velocity stayed : 
 She whimpled the water to weather aiul lee. 
 And lieavcd as if borne on the waves of the'sea. 
 Mute nature was roused in the bounds of the glen : 
 The wild deer of Gairtney abandoned his den, 
 Fled panting away over river and isle, 
 Nor once turned his eye to the brook of Olen-Gyle : 
 The fox fled in terror, the ea^^le awoke. 
 As slumbering he dozed on the shelf of the rock ; 
 Astonished, to hide in the moonbeam he flew, 
 And screwed the night-heaven till lost in the blue 
 Young Malcolm beheld the pale lady approach, 
 The chieftain salute her, and shrink from her touch. 
 He saw the Macgregor kneel down on the plain. 
 As begging for something he could not obtain ; ' 
 She raised him indignant, derided his stay, 
 Then bore him on board, set her sail, and away. 
 
 Though fast the red bark down the river did glide, 
 Yet faster ran Malcolm adown hv its side 
 " Macgregor ! Macgregor ! " he bitterly cried ; 
 " Macgregor ! Macgregor ! " the echoes repliei 
 
 Mil 
 
 
IfiS 
 
 THE DESTRUCTION OF DABKL. 
 
 He struck at the la.ly, but, Btraugo thuu«li it seem, 
 Hifl sword only fell on the rock, and the stream ; 
 But the groa :.« from the boat that ascended the main, 
 Were groans from a bosom in horror and pain. 
 They reached the dark lake, and bore lightly away ,- 
 Macgregor is vanished for ever and aye ! 
 
 li 
 
 > 
 
 H- 
 
 XXII.-THE DESTRUCTION OF BABEL. 
 
 (WILLIAM HOWITT.) 
 
 Forth walked the king upon the terraced height 
 Of Babel ;- forth he walked, and saw how t ir 
 Shone all its palaces, its hanging groves, 
 Its massy sculptures, and its waters broad 
 Beating its walls, and glad with many a sail. 
 And as his eye now upward glanced, and viewea 
 The heaven-ascending tower (his wondrous work;, 
 And downwards whence the hum of myriads came. 
 Proudly his heart did riuestiou of itself, 
 As one long after on the self-same spot- 
 " Is not this Babel, that my hand hath built 
 For the great house of my unbounded realm, 
 And for the honour of my majesty 1" 
 
 Oh ! 'twas a glorious scene '.-Throughout the earth 
 Lay one wide solitude. No people now 
 Did till its flood-depopulated fields,— 
 But here, the work of his imperial power, 
 Babel arose, sole city of the earth. 
 Sole home of man, the mother of all realms ; 
 And through its wide fair streets, and on its ro(jls, 
 And up its marble flight of many steps. 
 Streamed its gay population all abroad. 
 Gold-sandalled, silken-robed, the festival 
 Holding of great Nehushtan, serpent-god, 
 Whose vast form, wreathed upon his pillared height, 
 nieanied o'er the city far. Glad was the king. 
 And gladly did he smile, as on he trod 
 Amid the city crowd ; when, lo 1 his eye 
 
THE DESTRUCTION OP BABKL. 
 
 It seem, 
 tream ; 
 d tho lutiiii, 
 iain. 
 tly awtty,— 
 
 !L. 
 
 150 
 
 height 1 
 
 H''U- 1 
 
 1 . 
 
 sail. 1 
 
 viewed :; 
 
 IS work), V 
 
 lads caiiit'. 
 
 uilt 4 
 
 iliu, • 
 
 out the earth 
 
 I", 
 
 1118 ; 
 
 I its TooU, 
 
 1 
 
 llared heiglit, 
 e king, 
 
 J\'ll on a form at wliich liis mien grow dark. 
 To and fro paced, with hoary, streaming hraVd 
 And in liis girded robe of cninclot. 
 That wild shape, witli stern air and downward eveH- 
 And ever as the light and laughing crowd 
 Drew near, thoy started wide, with su.lden hush 
 And hvid lips, tiiat Bcarco could breathe the nanm 
 Of Hud ! the fearful Hud ! Not so tho king < 
 He saw him. and ho forward sprang, and cried. ' 
 
 prophet .' hast thou left f. v vdy bed 
 Thy ghastly cave beside th ) desert )\at 
 Ouco more to look abroad w;rli onvK .-seyes • 
 Once more to tcl) us thy po-p taal ta' , 
 Ol a destruction that doth ne r ; .Jiue? 
 Seest thou that thousand-time .-denounced tower? 
 How gloriously it stands, and soars aloft 
 Into heaven's shine, and soon shall reach its height ' 
 Seest thou these guardian gods-theso har>py crowd.-- 
 And dost thou feel no shame V Then flashed the eye 
 Ot the old prophet sternly, and he spoke :- 
 1 see thy tower-I see thy guardian gods- 
 1 see these happy crowds— and yet I come 
 lo tell once more that oft-repeated tale 
 Yet what have I to say which was not said 
 by Noah to the nations ere the floods 
 And what are all thy merry mockeries, 
 But such as fell through many a patient year 
 On him?-And yet it camo!-the deluge camel 
 O monarch! what dost thou, that was not done 
 iiy the Zamzummim,— by the Nephellin,— 
 (gigantic monsters, in their impious might 
 Who vainly hoped, in their huge mountain towers, 
 Crod to defy, as they had conquered men ? 
 Hast thou not fought an.! slaughtered, and laid waste! 
 Hast thou not crushed thy fellows to thy yoke? 
 Hast thou not filled them with a foolish fear 
 O thy brute gods,- and made them pile thy towers, 
 iny elephantine tnwors wJfi, o«..,r;i„ v-t, i- 
 And now dost hope to scale the very heavens 
 With that vam structure? What! think'st thou that God 
 
 
■t~s k tH'.ysitv'KXv-^ 
 
 ■^rr-'-'-xmnfs 
 
 w 
 
 ill 
 
 1 ill' 
 
 
 !!ll 
 
 ICO THK DESTRUCTION OF BABEL. 
 
 Qnouched all liis burning tliundcrs in the fluod, 
 And now will calndy bear thy taunting pride? 
 I tell tliee, nay-tliey come !" Then laughed the king, 
 And many a voice did cry-" Where 1 where 1 
 Good prophet, tell us where V And then he turned, 
 And pointing to the west, cried-" There !" They looked. 
 Fair shone the sky -sunbright -without a cloud : 
 And then tlu^y laughed, and theu they clapped their 
 
 hands. 
 Ikit. ah ! did tlieir eyes mock them ; or, m trutli, 
 Suddenly did the crystal sky grow dim ? 
 It did !— the sunlight fled— a mighty shade 
 Gathered, and blackened, and came on apace, 
 Shooting forth, momently, on every side, 
 Titanian arms, that stretched athwart the heavens, 
 Tlien swelled, recoiled, and with a whirling blaze 
 Fell back into the mass with sullen roar ! 
 Onward it came ! and on before it flew 
 Tempestuous wind, that with a deafening rage 
 And stifling vehemence did toss the crowd. 
 Up with one vast, terrific shriek they rose, 
 And would have fled-but, even then, the ground • 
 Heaved 'neath their tread— the giant turrets rocked. 
 And fell : and instantly black night rushed down. 
 And from its bosom burst a thunderous crash, 
 Stunning and terrible. Fast, followed fast 
 The livid flames, that o'er the city glared 
 And showed its prostrate millions still as death ! 
 ***** 
 Back ! back I glide !— I float as in a dream 
 From the far ages. O'er the ancient earth 
 The tide of many ..lousand years has rolled, 
 And mighty realms have withered to a name ; 
 And mighty men have stalked across the globe, 
 Whose giant shadows are flung down the vale 
 Of time, sublimely terrible ;-and now, 
 ' 1 these last days, fort^i goes the traveller. 
 In melancholy quest of old renown, 
 And finds alone this scathed and spectral tower, 
 .clan's earliest work, and truest monument ! 
 
luod, 
 de? 
 
 eil the king, 
 rel 
 
 he turned, 
 They looked, 
 cloud : 
 jlapped their 
 
 truth, 
 
 e 
 ace, 
 
 heavens, 
 ig blaze 
 
 rage 
 d. 
 
 a ground 
 rets rockeii, 
 3d dowu, 
 jrash, 
 
 .St 
 
 1 
 
 i death ! 
 
 * 
 
 ream 
 
 th 
 
 led, 
 
 lanie ; 
 
 R globe, 
 
 e vale 
 
 er, 
 
 al tower, 
 
 !Ut ! 
 
 lUK ISLAND OF THE SCOTS. jqj 
 
 XXni.-THE ISLAND OF THE SCOTS, 
 
 (attouk.) 
 
 opposite bank. The Germans hrd ake„ ",1. . ?""^ ^''° °'=''"P'«<» '»>« 
 from Which the French were TJltolZTf^ °^ ? "'^"^ '» 'he river, 
 found to carry troops across tl^ stream At t, rS*"."' "° """^^ ^o"'" "e 
 Scottish officers, who had fought nnTer Viscount n "'' "" * '"'P* ^°™«d «' 
 lowed the exiled James to iUcrvolun teTn . ""''f ' """^ whohadfol- 
 possess the Germans. Being Joined bv t. „ ^m ^c''^'^*' '"« '^'^' <"><» <»»- 
 accomplished the task in gallant styte tho^"" ^?"'* companies, they 
 -^ PVomthU event the^slanirirST^^^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 " The Stream," he said, " is broad and deep 
 And stubborn is the foe ; ^' 
 
 Yon island-strength is guarded well- 
 fcjay, brothers, will ye go? 
 
 From home and kin for many a year 
 
 Our steps Jiave wandered wide 
 And never may our bones be laid 
 
 Our fathers' graves beside. 
 No sisters have we to lament, 
 No wives to wail our fall ; ' 
 The traitor's and the spoiler's hand 
 
 Has reft our hearths of all. 
 But we have hearts, and we have arms 
 
 As strong to will and dare, 
 As when our ancient banners flew 
 
 Within the northern air. 
 Conae brothers ! let me name a spell 
 
 bliall rouse your souls again, 
 And send the old blood bounding free 
 Through pulse, and heart, and vein! 
 Call back the days of bygone years- 
 lie young and strong once more: 
 ihmk yonder stream, so stark and red 
 Is one we've crossed before ' 
 
 Rise, hill and glen! rise, crag'and wood! 
 
 -ttise up on either hand '— 
 
 Airain upon the Garry's banks, 
 
 On Scottish soil we stand! 
 
 (80) ^^ 
 
 n 
 
 }i'0. 
 
 mi 
 
 !/ 
 
 
 
 " ! 
 
 1 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 
Hft.^ 
 
 162 
 
 I, ! 
 
 
 ! \ llili 
 
 THE ISIJlND OF THE SCOTS. 
 
 Agaia I sea the tartans wave, 
 Again tbfl trumpets ring; 
 
 Again I hear our leader's call— 
 ' Upon them, for the King!' 
 
 Stayed we behind, that glorious day, 
 For roaring flood or linn? 
 
 The Boul of Grajme is with us still- 
 Now, brothers! will ye in?" 
 
 Thick blew the smoke across the stream, 
 
 And faster flashed the flame : 
 The water plashed in hissing jets, 
 
 As ball and bullet came. 
 Yet on\/ard pushed the Cavaliers 
 
 All stem and undismayed, 
 With thousand armed foes before. 
 
 And none behind to aid. 
 Once, as they neared the middle stream, 
 
 So strong the torrent swept, 
 That scarce that long and living wall 
 
 Their dangerous footing kept. 
 Then rose a warning cry behind, 
 
 A j oyous shout before : 
 " The current's strong— the way is long— 
 
 They'll never reach the shore ! 
 See ! see ! they stagger in the midst, 
 
 They waver in their line! 
 Fire on the madmen! break their ranks, 
 
 And whelm them in the Rhine!" 
 
 Have you seen the tall trees swaying, 
 
 When the blast is piping shrill, 
 And the whirlwind reels in fury 
 
 Down the gorges of the hill? 
 How they toss their mighty branches. 
 
 Struggling with the tempest's shock ; 
 How they keep their place of vantage, 
 
 Cleaving firmly to the rock? 
 
THE ISLAND oF THE SCOTS. 
 
 Even so the Scottish warriors 
 
 Held their own against the river; 
 Though the water flashed around them, 
 
 Not an eye was seen to quiver ; 
 Though the shot flew sliarp and deadly 
 
 Not a man relaxed his hold : * 
 
 For their hearts were big and thrilling 
 
 With the mighty thoughts of old. 
 One word was spoke among th< n, 
 ^^ And through the ranks it spread— 
 " Remember our dead Claverhouse 1" 
 
 Was all the Captain said. 
 Then sternly bending forward 
 
 They struggled on a while, 
 Until they cleared the heavy stream. 
 
 Then rushed towards the isle. 
 
 The German heart is stout and true, 
 
 The German arm is strong; 
 The German foot goes seldom back 
 
 Where arrnhd foemen throng : 
 But never had they foced in field 
 
 So stern a charge before, 
 And never had they felt the sweep 
 
 Of Scotland's broad claymore. 
 Not fiercer pours the avalanche 
 
 Adown the steep incline. 
 That rises o'er the parent-springs 
 
 Of rough and rapid Rhine- 
 Scarce swifter shoots the bolt from hear^n 
 Than came the Scottish baud ' 
 
 Right up against the guarded trench, 
 
 And o'er it sword in hand. 
 In vain their leaders forward press— 
 They meet the deadly brand.' 
 
 lonely island of the Rhine, 
 
 Where seed was never .".owti 
 What harvest lay upon thy sands, 
 
 By those strong reapers thrown? 
 
 163 
 
 I U 
 
 J , f 
 
 • f, 
 
 i' t 
 
■ f ll""--«ll 
 
 ll 1 
 
 i 
 
 i 
 
 1 ' 
 
 1 ^ 
 
 j ; 
 
 I: 
 
 Ifrl THK ISLAND OF THE SCOTS. 
 
 What saw the winter moon that night, 
 
 As, struggling through the rain, 
 She poured a wan and fitful light 
 
 On marsh, and stream, and plain 1 
 A dreary spot with corpses strewn, 
 
 And bayonets glistening round ; 
 A broken bridge, a stranded boat, 
 
 A bare and battered mound ; 
 And one huge watch-fire's kin<lled pile, 
 
 That sent its quivering glare 
 To tell the leaders of the host. 
 
 The conquering Scots were there ! 
 
 And did they twine the laurel-wreath 
 
 For those who fought so welll 
 And did they honour those who lived. 
 
 And weep for those who fell? 
 What meed of thanks was given to them 
 
 Let aged annals tell. 
 Why should they bring the laurel-wreath— 
 
 Why crown the cup with wine? 
 It was not Frenchmen's blood that flowed 
 
 So freely on the Rhine— 
 A stranger band of beggared men 
 
 Had done the venturous deed : 
 The glory was to France alone, 
 
 The danger was their meed. 
 What mattered it that men should vaunt 
 
 And loud and fondly swear, 
 That higher feat of chivalry 
 
 Was never wrought elsewhere ? 
 They bore within their breasts the giief 
 
 That fame can never heal— 
 The deep, unutterable woe. 
 
 Which none save exiles feel. 
 Their hearts were yearning for the land 
 
 They ne'er might see again— 
 For Scotland's higli and lieathered iiiili 
 
 For mountain, loch, and glen — 
 
THUNDKR-8T0RM AMONG THE ALPS. 
 
 For those Who haply lay at rest 
 
 -Beyond the distant sea, 
 Beneath the green and daisied turf 
 
 Where they would gladly be ! 
 
 165 
 
 XXIV.-TEUNDER.STORM AMONG THE ALPS. 
 (byron.) 
 It ^ the hush of night: and aU between 
 Ihy margin and the mountains, dusk, yet clear 
 
 w;rt'"^.r^"°^' ^^^ ^««ncti; 'een " 
 Save darkened Jura, whose capt heights appear 
 Precipitously steep; and drawing near. ^ 
 There breathes a living fragrance from the shore 
 Of flowers yet fresh with childhood: on the ear 
 Drops the light drip of the suspended oar; 
 Or chirps the grasshopper one good-night carol more; 
 He is an evening reveUer, who makes 
 am Me an mfancy, and sings his fiU i 
 At intervals, some bird, from out the'brakos 
 btarts mto voice a moment, then is still ' 
 Ihere seems a floating whisper on the hill 
 But that IS fancy, for the star-light dews 
 All silently their tears of love inttil 
 Weeping themselves away, tiU they' infuse 
 Deep mto Nature's breast the spirit of her hues. 
 The sky is changed !-and such a change! night 
 And storm and darkness, ye are wondfous string ^ 
 Yet lovely m your strength, as is the light " 
 
 Of a dark eye in woman? Far along 
 From peak to peak, the rattling crags' among 
 Leaps the live thunder! Not from one lone^cloud 
 But every mountain now hath found a tongue ' 
 BaTkl ?r ?°«^^^«' tJ^^ough her misty shroud. ' 
 i>ack to the joyous Alps, who cal' ' ' " 
 
 AJid this is in the night .—Most glo 
 Ihou wert not sent for slumber! let 
 
 her aloud! 
 
 >■ 'i\''\ 
 
 
 
 lorious night ! 
 me be 
 
'% 
 
 166 
 
 PITT— NELSON— FOX. 
 
 IJiMa: L !! 
 
 I 
 
 A sharer in thy fierce and far delight,— 
 A portion of the tempest and of thee ! 
 How the lit lake shines, a phosphoric sea! 
 And the big rain cames dancing to the narth. 
 And now again 'tis black,— and now, the glee 
 Of the loud hills shakes with ita juountain-mirth. 
 
 As if they did rejoice o\ t a young earthquake's birtii. 
 Now, where the swift Rhone cleaves his way between 
 Heights, which appear a.-^ lovers wiv,- ha^ e pr-vtca 
 In hate, whvse mining depths so intervene 
 IhvA they cau meet no more, though broken-r«earteu 
 'jii'..,:iuj:h 3n their souls, which thus each other thwartbd, 
 Love wnc the very i uot of the fond rage 
 •Whi< ii S:u:Utcd their life's bloom, and then— departed !- 
 Itself V s . .ired, lat leaving them an age 
 
 Of years all winters !-war within themselves u) wage !— 
 
 Now where the quick Rhone thus hath clelt 'ds way, 
 The mightiest of the storms hath ta'en Ms sir ad ! 
 For here, not one, but many, make their play, 
 And fling their thunder-bolts from hand to hand, 
 Flashing and cast around ! of all the band. 
 The brightest through these parted hills hath forked 
 His lightnings,— as if he did understand, 
 That in such gaps as desolation worked, 
 There the hot shaft should blast whatever therem lurked. 
 
 XXV.-PITT-NEISON— FOX. 
 
 (sir WALTER SCOTT.) 
 
 William Pitt, son of the Eavl of Chatham, w?9 born In 1769, and died in 180(5. 
 Horatio Nelson, Viscount Nelson, was the son of aclerRyman i" Norfolk, and 
 was born In 1758. He was killed at the battle of Trafalgar in 1805. Charles 
 James Fox, son of the first Lord Holland, was born in 1748. He entered Par- 
 liament when only nineteen years of age. In the House of Commons he was 
 theTeat opponent and rival of Mr. Pitv. He died in 1806. a few months 
 after Mr. Pitt, beside whom he was burled in Westminster Abbey. 
 
 To mute and to material things 
 Ne/w life revolving .summer brim 
 The genial call dead Nature hepf-, 
 And in her glory re-appe..> . 
 
h! 
 lee 
 
 -mirth, 
 e's birtli. 
 
 ay betweeu 
 
 pn.vted 
 
 sn-liearted ' 
 ler thwarted, 
 
 a— departed !— 
 
 IS to wage ! — 
 
 eft 'tis way, 
 I siiTud! 
 )lay, 
 baud, 
 
 I, 
 
 lath forked 
 
 herein lurked. 
 
 ■69, and died In 180fi. 
 lyman In Norfolk, and 
 gar In 1805. Charles 
 r48. He entered Par- 
 3 of Commons he was 
 n 1806, a few montlia 
 ;er Abbey. 
 
 PITT— NELSON— FOX. 
 
 But, oh ! my country's wintry state 
 What second spring shall renovate? 
 What powerful caU shaU bid arise 
 The buried warlike and the wise • 
 The mind tha^- thought for Brita/n's weaL 
 Ihe hand that ^jfraspod the victor-steel ? 
 The vernal sun new life bestows 
 E'en on the meanest flower that blows • 
 But vainly, vainly may he shine ' 
 
 Where glory weeps o'er Nelson's shrine • 
 And vainly pierce the solemn gloom, 
 That shrouds, Pitt, thy hallowed tomb ! 
 
 Deep graved in every British heart. 
 Oh 1 never let those names depart! 
 Say to your 8ons,-Lo, here his' grave 
 Who victor died on Gadite" wave ! 
 To him, as to the burning levin • 
 S5^^' ^"^^*' resistless course was given 
 Where'er his country's foes were found ' 
 Was heard the fated thunder's sound, ' 
 Till burst the bolt on yonder shore 
 Rolled, blazed, destroyed,-and was no more. 
 
 Airf^^u"^^"^^ ^® ^^^^ ^^^ perished worth, 
 Who bade the conqueror go forth, 
 
 And launched that thunderbolt of war 
 
 On Egypt,* Hafnia,» Trafalgar ;« 
 
 Who, born to guide such high emprise. 
 
 For Britain's weal was early wise ; 
 
 Alaa ! to whom the Almighty gave, 
 
 For Britain's sins, an early grave! 
 
 His worth, who, in his mightiest hour, 
 
 A bauble held the pride of power, 
 
 Spurned at the sordid lust of pelf' 
 
 And served his Albion for herself; 
 
 ' That Is, Nelson. 
 
 » uVi ^^'"^''' '^°™ °*^^'' *^^ """''"* """^ "'Cadiz 
 ; B^tlJ"*; Hafhia. that is, CopenSl^ 1^ ^"^ "''■ 
 * Battle of Trafalgar, 18C5. 
 
 167 
 
 Willi 
 
 I J 
 
 ! I 
 
1 
 
 1 ll. 
 
 ,! I!'^ 
 
 I^H 
 
 >ift[iMinr'i I ifTj- 
 
 &. 
 
 naas 
 
 ^^Boet 
 
 tt.ii Ai 
 
 168 riTT— NELSON— FOX, 
 
 Who, when the frantic crowd amain 
 
 Strained at subjection's bursting rein, 
 
 O'er their wild mood full conquest gained,— 
 
 The pride, he would not cnish, restrained,— 
 
 Showed their fierce zeal a worthier cause, 
 
 And brought the freeman's arm to aid the freeman's laws, 
 
 Hadst thou but lived, though stript of power, 
 A watchman on the lonely tower, 
 Thy thrilling trump had roused the land. 
 When fraud and danger were at hand ; 
 By thee, as by the beacon-light, 
 Our pilots had kept course aright ; 
 As some proud column, though alone. 
 Thy strength had propped the tottering throne. 
 Now is the stately column broke, 
 The beacon-light is quenched in smoke, 
 The trumpet's silver sound is still. 
 The warder silent on the hill 1 
 
 Oh ! think how to his latest day, 
 When Death, just hovering, claimed his prey, 
 With Palinure's^ unaltered mood. 
 Firm at his dangerous post he stood ; 
 Each call for needful rest repelled. 
 With dying hand the rudder held, 
 Till, in his fall, with fateful sway 
 The steerage of the realm gave way ! 
 Then, while on Britain's thousand plains 
 One unpolluted church remains. 
 Whose peaceful bells ne'er sent around 
 The bloody tocsin's maddening sound. 
 But still upon the hallowed day 
 Convoke the swains to praise and pray ; 
 While faith and civil peace are dear, 
 Grace +his cold marble with a tear, — 
 He who preserved them, Pitt, lies here ! 
 
 I Pa'.lnurus, the faithfn! pilot of AenMn, who In deyotlon to hl» ma»ter» c«nn 
 lost hU life. 
 
o his master's cntiM 
 
 PITT— NELSON— FOX. 
 
 Nor yet suppress the generous sigh, 
 Because his rival slumbers nigh; 
 Nor be thy requiescat dumb, 
 Lest it be said o'er Fox's tomb :— 
 For talents mourn, untimely lost, 
 When best employed, and wanted most • 
 Mourn genius high and lore profound ' 
 And wit that loved to play, not wound; 
 And all the reasoning powers divine, 
 To penetrate, resolve, combine ; 
 And feelings keen and fancy's glow,— 
 They sleep with him who sleeps below 
 And, if thou mourn'st they could not save 
 from error him who owns this grave 
 Be every harsher thought suppressed,' 
 And sacred be the last long rest. 
 Heie^ where the end of earthly thincrg 
 Lays heroes, patriots, bards, and kings: 
 Where stiflf the hand, and still the tongue 
 Of those who fought, and spoke, and sung- 
 ^ere, where the fretted aisles prolong 
 The distant notes of holy song, 
 As if some angel spoke again, ' 
 " All peace on earth, good-will to men • "— 
 If ever from an English heart. 
 Oh ! here let prejudice depart. 
 And, partial feeling cast aside, 
 Eecord, that Fox a Briton died ! 
 When Europe crouched to France's yoke 
 And Austria bent, and Prussia broke, ' 
 And the firm Russian's purpose brave 
 Was bartered by a timorous slave; 
 E'en then dishonour's peace he spumed. 
 The sullied olive-branch returned, 
 Stood for his country's glory fast,' 
 And nailed her colours to the mast ! 
 Heaven, to reward his firmness, gave 
 A portion in this honoured grave ; 
 And ne'er held marbln in ifa fmqt 
 
 169 
 
 Oi two such 
 
 irous 
 
 naen the duat 
 
 
 f\%' 
 
 ^, f,i 
 
 i 
 
 
 
 1 'l 
 
 vM 
 
 i (!) 1 
 
170 
 
 IVAN THE OZAn. 
 
 XXVI.— IVAN THE CZAR. 
 
 (MRS. UKUAH8.) 
 
 IvMi the Great, Ciar of Muscovy (lOnS to 1884), wfti besieging NoTROrod; but 
 as he was now old and enfceblod, hl» kp'"- ' ' '''»' 1»8 would give tho 
 
 command of the assault to hli son. , ;■■» j^ioi-usiii enraftcl hlni hoyond 
 uieadttie; nothing would apponne him; tnd his »on having prostrated hlmseU 
 at his feet to seek pardon and reconciliation, tho old man struck him with 
 »u"h violence that he dlnl two days afterward*. The father was now Incon- 
 aoloble; he took no further Interest In tho war, and soon followed his son to 
 the grave. 
 
 He sat in silence on tlio ground, 
 
 The old and haughty czar; 
 Lonely, though princes girt him round, 
 
 And leaders of the war : 
 He had cast his jewelled sabre, 
 
 That many a field hud won, 
 To the earth beside his y( athful dead, 
 
 His fair and firbt-boru son. 
 
 With a robe of ermine for its bed 
 
 Was laid that form of clay, 
 Where the light a stormy sunset shed 
 
 Through the ricli tent made way ; 
 And a sad and solemn beauty 
 
 On tlie pallid facu came down, 
 Which the lord of natioi mutely watched 
 
 In the dui- , with h renown. 
 
 Low tones at last of woe and fear 
 
 Froro hi.-) full bosom broke ; 
 A mournfu] thing it was lo hear 
 
 How then the proud man spuke 1 
 The voice that through th t)mbat 
 
 Had shouted f nd hijh, 
 Came forth in strai' -Ui" hollow tones, 
 
 Burdened wit) ^on; 
 
 " There is no crimson on thy cheeks, 
 And on thy lip no breath ; 
 
IVAN TIfE CZAR, 
 
 I call thee, and thou dost uot speak— 
 They tell me this is death 1 
 
 And fearful things are whispering 
 That I the deed have done ;— 
 
 For the honour of thy father's name, 
 Look up, look up, my son I 
 
 Well might I know death's hue and mien. 
 
 But on thine aspect, boy, 
 What till this moment have I seen. 
 
 Save Ijright and tameless joy? 
 Swiftest thou wort to battlf^. 
 
 And bravest there of aa : 
 How could I think a warrior's frame 
 
 Tluis like a flower should fall ? 
 
 I will not bear that still, cold look I 
 
 Rise up, thou fierce and free ! 
 Wake as the storm wakes ! I will brook 
 
 All, save this calm, from thee ! 
 Lift brightly up, and proudly, 
 
 Ouce more thy kindling eyes ! 
 Hath my word lost its power on earth ? 
 
 I say to thee, Arise ! 
 
 Diu. hou not know I loved thee well ? 
 
 Thou didst not, and art gone, 
 In bitterness of soul to dwell 
 
 Where man must dwell alone. 
 Come back, young fiery spirit I 
 
 If but one hour, to learn 
 The secret of the folded heart, 
 
 That seemed to thee so stern. 
 
 Thou wert ^he first, the first fair child 
 That in mine arms I pressed : 
 
 Thou wert the bright one that hast smiled 
 Like summer on my breast ! 
 
 I reared thee as an eagle, 
 
 To the chase thy etej. lied ; 
 
 171 
 
 P 
 
 m 
 
 iU'l 
 
 "1; 
 
'TM 
 
 11 
 
 I! 
 
 w 
 
 172 
 
 A SHIP SINKINO. 
 
 I bore theo on my battle-horso, 
 I look upon thee— dead. 
 
 Lay down my warlike banners here, 
 
 Ne\^r again to wave, 
 And bury my red sword and spear, 
 
 Chiefs ! in my first-born'a grave ; 
 And leave mo ! — I have conquered,- - 
 
 I have slain, — my work is done ! 
 Whom have I slain 1 Ye answer not, 
 
 Thoii, too, art mute, my eon ! " 
 
 And thus his wild lament was potired 
 
 Through the dark resounding night, 
 And the battle knew no more his sword, 
 
 Nor the foaming steed his might. 
 He heard strange voices moaning 
 
 In every wind that sighed ; 
 From the searching stars of heaven he shrank ;- 
 
 Humbly the conqueror died. 
 
 XXVn.-A SHIP SINKINO. 
 
 (PROJESSOR WILSON.) 
 
 John Wilson, late Professor of Moral Philosophy In the University of Edinburgh, 
 was bom In Paisley in 1785. He died In Edinburgh In 1854. Of his poems, 
 the best knowi' are The Isle 0/ Palms, and Ctty of the Plague; and of his piosa 
 works. Recreation* 0/ Christopher North, and Nodes Ambrosianat, 
 
 — Her giant form. 
 O'er wrathful surge, through blackening storm. 
 Majestically calm, would go 
 'Mid the deep darkness white as snow! 
 But gently now the small waves glide. 
 Like playful lambs o'er a mountain's side. 
 So stately her bearing, so proud her array, 
 The main she will traverse for ever and aye. 
 Many ports will exult at the gleam of her mast ! 
 — Hush ! hush ! thou vain dreamer, this hour is her last 1 
 
 Five hundred souls, in one Instant of dread, 
 Are hurried o'er the deck ; 
 
 iiii! 
 
A JJllIP SINKIXa. 
 
 And fust the luiserable ship 
 
 Becomes a lifeless wreck I 
 
 Her keel liath struck on a hidden rock, 
 
 Her planks are torn asunder, 
 
 And down como her masts with a reeling shock. 
 
 And a hideous crash, like thunder I 
 
 Her sails are draggled in the brine, 
 
 That gladdened lute the skies ; 
 
 And her pendant, that kissed the fair moonshine 
 
 JJowu many a fathom lies. ' 
 
 Her beauteous sides, whose rainbow hues 
 
 Gleamed softly from below, 
 
 And flung a warm and sunny flush 
 
 O'er the wreaths of murmuring snow. 
 
 To the coral rocks are hurrying down, 
 
 To sleep amid colours as bright as their cun. 
 
 Oh ! many a dream was in the ship 
 An hour before her death ; 
 Aid sights of home, witli sighs, disturbed 
 The sleeper's long drawn breath. 
 Instead of the murmur of the sea. 
 The sailor heard the humming-tree. 
 Alive through all its leaves,— 
 The hum of the spreading sycamore 
 That grows before his cottage door. 
 And the swallow's song in the eaves ;~ 
 His arms enclosed a blooming boy. 
 Who listened, with tears of sorrow and joy 
 To the dangers his father had passed ; 
 And his wife-by turns she wept and smiled 
 As she looked on the fUther of her child 
 Returned to her heart at last ! 
 —He wakes, at the vessel's sudden roll - 
 And the rush of waters is in liis soul ! 
 Astounded, the reeling deck he paces, 
 'Mid hurrjing forms and ghastly fKcea;— 
 The whole ship's crew is there ! 
 Wailings around and overhead- 
 Brave spirits stupified or dead— 
 And madness and despair! 
 
 178 
 
THE CONVICT SHIP. 
 
 Now is the ocean's bosom bare, 
 Unbroken as the floating air ; 
 The ship hath melted quite away, 
 Like a straggling dream at break of day. 
 No image meets my wandering eye, 
 But the new-risen sun and the sunny sky : 
 Though the night-shades are gone, yet a vapour dull 
 Bedims the wave so beautiful ; 
 Wiiile a low and melancholy moan 
 Mourns for the glory that hath flown 1 
 
 m 
 
 "!1 
 
 1^ 
 
 1 
 
 11 
 
 XXVm.— THE COirVICT SHIP. 
 
 (hervky.) 
 
 Thomas Kibble Hervey was born in Manchester In 1804, and died In 1889. 
 y(tm for some time Editor of the Mhenaeum. 
 
 He 
 
 Morn on the waters !— and purple and bright 
 
 Bursts on the billows the flashing of light ; 
 
 O'er the glad waves, like a child of the sun, 
 
 See the taU vessel goes gallantly on ; 
 
 Full to the breeze she unbosoms her sail. 
 
 And her pennon streams onward, like hope, in the gala 
 
 The winds come around her, and murmur, and song, 
 
 And the surges rejoice as they bear her along. 
 
 See ! she looks up to the golden-edged clouds, 
 
 And the sailor sings gaily aloft in her shrouds; 
 
 Onward she glides, amid ripple and spray, 
 
 Over the waters, away and away ! 
 
 Bright, as the visions of youth ere they part, 
 
 Passing away, like a dream of the heart ! — 
 
 Who, as the beautiful pageant sweeps by, 
 
 Music around her and sunshine on high, 
 
 Pauses to think, amid glitter and glow, 
 
 " Oh ! there be hearts that are breaking, below !" 
 
 Night on the waves i — and the moon is on liig", 
 Hung like a gem on the brow of the sky ; 
 
 ililii: 
 
3d In 1859. He 
 
 THE CONVICT SHIP. 
 
 Treading its depths in the power of her might, 
 And turning the clouds, as they pass her, to light : 
 Look to the waters ! asleep on their breast, 
 Seems not the ship like an island of rest ] 
 Bright and alone on the shadowy main, 
 Like a heart-cherished home on some desolate 
 
 plain ! 
 Who,— as she smiles in the silverj-- light, 
 Spreading her wings on the bosom of night. 
 Alone on the deep, as the moon in the sky, 
 A phantom of beauty,— could deem, with a sigh. 
 That so lovely a thing is the mansion of sin, 
 And souls that are smitten lie bursting within 1 
 Who, as he watches her silently gliding, 
 Eemembers that wave after wave is dividing 
 Bosoms that sorrow and guilt could not sever— 
 Hearts that are parted, and broken— for ever? 
 Or dreams that he watches, afloat on the wave, 
 The death -bed of hope, or the young spirit's 
 
 grave? 
 
 175 
 
 fi ;y. 
 
 'Tis thus with our life :— while it passes along, 
 
 Like a vessel at sea, amid sunshine and song. 
 
 Gaily we glide in the gaze of the world. 
 
 With streamers afloat, and with canvas unfurled : 
 
 All gladness and glory to wandering eyes — 
 
 But chartered by sorrow, and freighted with sighs! 
 
 Fading and false is the aspect it wears, 
 
 As the smiles we put on, just to cover our tears; 
 
 And the withering thoughts that the world cannot 
 
 know. 
 Like heart-broken exiles, lie burning below; 
 Whilst the vessel drives on to that desolate shore. 
 Where the dreams of our childhood are vanished 
 
 and o'er. 
 
'•H 
 
 
 If i§ 
 
 * 41 
 
 17G THE ISLES OF THE SEA FAIRIES. 
 
 XXIX— THE ISLES OP THE SEA FAIRIES. 
 
 (MARY nOWITT.) 
 
 Among the. isles of the golden mist 
 
 I lived for many a year ; 
 And all that chanced unto me there, 
 
 'Tis well that ye should hear. 
 
 I dwelt in a hall of 3ilvery pearl, 
 
 With rainbow light inlaid ; 
 I sate on a throne, as old as the sea, 
 
 Of the ruby coral made. 
 
 The old carbuncle lit the dome, 
 
 Where I was sworn a king ; 
 And my crown was wrought of the pale sea gold, 
 
 And so was m^ " • •' ring. 
 
 And she wL:> ■^-■w acs c ny right liand, 
 
 As the morniUg siar , .is fair; 
 She was clothed in a robe of shadowy light, 
 
 And veiled by lier golden hair. 
 
 They made me l<ing of the Fairy Isles 
 
 That lie in the golden mist, 
 Where the coral rooks and the silvery sand 
 
 By singing Avaves are kissed. 
 
 Fiir off, in the ocean solitudes. 
 
 They lie— a glorious seven ! 
 Like a beautiful group of sister stars 
 
 In the untraced heights of heaven. 
 
 For the mariner sails them round about. 
 But he comes not them anigh ; — 
 
 They are hid far off in a secret place 
 Of the sea's immensity. 
 
THE ISLES OF THE SEA FAIRIES. 
 
 Oia«3a,jtiful isles! where there comes aio death 
 Where no winter ent(>rs in ' 
 
 And their fairy race, like the'lily flowers 
 Do neither toil nor spin! 
 
 Oh beautiful isles! where the coral rocks 
 Like an ancient temple stand, 
 
 FoL'Tf" "^ T"^''^"^ workmanship 
 For a lofty worship planned! 
 
 The heights of heaven do roof it in 
 O erspanned like an azure bow • ' 
 
 And it^ floor is the living waves of light 
 That cover the depths below- 
 
 The unsunned depths of the ancient sea. 
 
 Where the emerald caverns lie. 
 Where an earlier race of the fairy kin<^ 
 
 Made their great treasury. ^ 
 
 Oh beautiful .-sles! when the waning moon 
 Sinks down from the vales of earth 
 
 bhe rises upon those fairy seas 
 And gives to their daylight birth. 
 
 There conies no cloud to dim her ray.s 
 
 She shmes forth pure and bright 
 The Sliver moon she shines by day 
 And the golden mist by night ! 
 
 Oh beautiful isles ! and a fairy race, 
 
 As the dream ofa poet, fair, 
 Now hoM the place by a charged spell, 
 
 That has power o'er sea and air. 
 
 mat the waters cassf fo hnO ■ 
 ^^ith carved prows more richly wrought 
 (8CJ ^''^"^''«^'«rk of mortal hand. 
 
 1 w 
 
 177 
 
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 .#if" 
 
 fKSSi^^'Vi^fi^asS^^bm 
 
 178 
 
 ■li! . 
 
 tfl 'i 
 
 1 
 
 THE ISLES OF THE SEA FAIRIES. 
 
 They skim along the silver waves 
 
 Without or sail or oar ; 
 Wherever the fairy voyager would, 
 
 The pearl ship comes to shore. 
 
 They taught me the song which is their speech— 
 
 A tone of love divine ; 
 They set me down at their banquet board, 
 
 And poured me out fairy wine ; - 
 
 The wine of the old sea vintage red, 
 
 That was made long years ago ; 
 More rich than the blood in kingly veins, 
 
 Yet pure and cool as snow. 
 
 I loved that idle life for a time ; 
 
 But when that time was by, 
 I pined again for another change 
 
 And for human sympathy. 
 
 They brought me then a glorious form. 
 
 And gave her for my bride ;— 
 I looked on her, and I straight forgot 
 
 That I was to earth allied. 
 
 I snatched the crown they offered me; 
 
 I forgot what I had been— 
 T snatched the crown, to be a king, 
 
 Tliat she might be a queen. 
 
 For many a year and more, I dwelt 
 
 In those isles of soft delight ; 
 Where all was kind and beautiful, 
 
 With neither death nor night. 
 
 We danced on the sands when the silver moon 
 Th.rouL'h the coral arches gleamed, 
 
 And pathways broad of glittering light 
 O'er the azure waters streamed. 
 
leir speech- 
 board, 
 
 veius, 
 
 rm, 
 
 ;ot 
 
 silver moon 
 
 3d, 
 
 lisbt 
 
 THE ISLES OF THE SEA FAIRIES. 
 
 Then shot forth many a pearly boat, 
 
 Like stars across the sea ; 
 Aiid songs were sung, and sheila were blown, 
 
 That set wild music free. 
 
 For many a year and more, I dwelt 
 
 With neither thought nor care, 
 Till I forgot almost my speech— 
 
 Foi'got both creed and prayer. 
 
 At length it chanced that as my boat 
 
 Went on its charmed way, 
 I came unto the veil of mist 
 
 Which round the Seven Isles lay. 
 
 Even then it was a Sabbath morn, 
 
 And a ship was passing by, 
 And I heard a hundred voices raise 
 
 A sound of psalmody. 
 
 A mighty love came o'er my heart, 
 
 A yearning toward my kind. 
 And unwillingly I spoke aloud 
 
 The impulse of my mind. 
 
 " Oh, take me hence, ye Christian men !" 
 
 I cried in spiritual wane; 
 And anon the golden mist gave way. 
 
 That had been like adamant. 
 
 The little boat wherein I sate 
 
 Seemed all to melt away ; 
 And I was left upon the sea, 
 
 Like Peter in dismay ! 
 
 Those Christian mariners, amazed, 
 Looked on me in affi-ight : * , 
 
 Some cried I was an evil ghost. 
 And some a water-sprite ! 
 
 179 
 
m 
 
 ii 
 
 180 THE ISLES OF THE SEA FAIRIES, 
 
 But the chaplain seized the vessel's boat, 
 Witli mercy prompt anil boon, 
 
 And took me up into the ship, 
 As I fell into a swoon. 
 
 As one that, in delirious dreams, 
 Strange things doth hear and see ; 
 
 So passed before my mind the shapes 
 Of this bright heresy. 
 
 In Vttiu I told the mariners — 
 No man to me would list : 
 
 They jf'sted at the Fairy Isles, 
 And at the golden mist. 
 
 4. 
 
 They swore I was a shipwrecked man, 
 Tossed on tlie dreary roain; 
 
 And pitied me because my fate 
 Had crazed my 'wildered bram. 
 
 At length, when I perceived how dull 
 The minds of men had grown, 
 
 I locked these things within my soul, 
 For my own thought alone. 
 
 And soon a wondrous thing I saw ; 
 
 I now was old and gray — 
 A man of three-score yeara and ten, 
 
 A weak man in decay. 
 
 And yesterday, and I was young! 
 
 Time did not leave a trace 
 Upon my form, while I abode 
 
 Within the charmed place. 
 
 I trembled at the fearful work 
 Of three-score years and ten ; 
 astCcu iOi iove— uu* i uaa ^owu 
 An alien amoug men. 
 
THE ISLES OF THE SEA PAIRIES. 
 
 T passed among the busy crowds 
 
 I marked their care and pain, ' 
 And how they waste their manhood's stren-.th 
 
 To make but little gain. "tn^cn, 
 
 I saw besotted men mistake 
 
 For gold, unworthy cluy • 
 And many more, who sell their souls 
 
 ■for the pleasures of a day. 
 
 I saw how years on years roll on 
 
 As a tale that has been told • 
 And then at last they start, like me, 
 
 To find that they are old. 
 
 Said I, 'I These men laugh me to scorn ; 
 
 My wisdom they resist ; 
 But they themselves abide like me 
 
 Withm a golden mist!" 
 
 Oh up, and save yourselves! even now 
 ine ship goes hurrying by 
 
 \vL^'^' t^' ^^"'^ '^ ^^' ««^« redeemed. 
 Who are bound for Eternity ! 
 
 161 
 
 PRAYER FOR INDIFFERENCE. 
 
 Oft I've implored the gods in vain. 
 And prayed till I've been weary • 
 
 F.)r once I'll seek my wish to gaia' 
 vt Oljeron the fairy. 
 
 Sweet airy being, wanton sprife 
 Wlu) lurk'st in woods unseen,' 
 
 Aid oft by Cynthia's silver li?ht 
 Tnp'st yaily o'er the green . 
 
i 'i 
 
 182 THK ISLES OF THE SEA FAIRIKS. 
 
 If e'er thy pitying heart was moved, 
 
 As ancient stories tell, 
 And for the Athenian maid* who loved, 
 
 Thou sought'st a wondrous spell ; 
 
 deign once more t' exert thy power ! 
 
 Haply some herb or tree. 
 Sovereign as juice of western flower, 
 
 Conceals a balm for me. 
 
 haste to shed the sovereign balm, 
 My shattered nerves new string 
 
 And for my guest, serenely calm. 
 The nymph Indifference bring I 
 
 At her approach, see Hope, see Fear, 
 
 See Expectation fly ! 
 And Disappointment in the rear, 
 
 That blasts the promised joy ! 
 
 li' ; 
 
 " li 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 O Fairy Elf! but grant me this. 
 
 This one kind comfort send. 
 And so may never-fading bliss 
 
 Thy flowery paths attend ! 
 
 So may the glow-worm's glimmering light 
 
 Thy tiny footsteps lead 
 To some new region of delisht. 
 
 Unknown to mortal trea«i 
 
 And be thy acorn goblet filled 
 
 With heaven's ambrosial dew, 
 From sweetest, freshest flowers distilled. 
 
 That shed fresh sweets for you ! 
 
 MkS. 0RKVI1.1.N. 
 
 * S«e Midsummer Night's UrcMin 
 
FUOM " ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL." 
 
 183 
 
 I'M 
 
 XXX.— FBOM " ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL." 
 
 (drydkn.) 
 
 Tills piece U descriptive of some of the characters who Bgured In Monmnnth'j 
 Rebellion, 1685. Absalom is Monmouth; and Achitophel, the Earl of Shaft«». 
 bury. 
 
 Of these, the false Achitophel was first ; 
 A name to all succeeding ages curst : 
 For close designs and crooked counsels fit, 
 Sagacious, bold, and turbulent of wit : 
 Restless, unfixed in principles and place ; 
 In power uupleased, impatient of disgrace ; 
 A fiery soul, which working out its way, 
 Fretted the pigmy body to decay, 
 And o'er-informed its tenement of clay. 
 A daring pilot in extremity ; 
 
 Pleased with the danger, when the waves went high 
 He sought the storms ; but, for a calm unfit, 
 Would steer too nigh the sands, to boast his wit. 
 Great wits are, sure, to madness near allied, 
 And thin partitions do their bounds divide : 
 Else, why should he, with wealth and honours blest. 
 Refuse his age the needful hours of rest ? 
 Punish a body which he could not please, 
 Bankrupt of life, yet prodigal of ease? 
 
 M 
 
 In friendship false, implacable in hate, . 
 
 Resolved to ruin or to rule the state. 
 
 To compass this the triple bond' he broke, 
 
 The pillars of the public safety shook. 
 
 And fitted Israel for a foreign yoke ; 
 
 Then, seized with fear, yet still afFcoting fame, 
 
 TT8uri>ed a patriot's all-atoning nnme. 
 
 So easy still it proves, in factious tinion, 
 
 'Vivh pU"iiG zeSi lO cancel pnvritc uriuiv .i, 
 
 * Th« klliance between England, HpllnnJ, and Snedou. 
 
mi*^f&sitmii?^ml^^Ml 
 
 1 
 
 i 
 
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 184 THE LKPKR. 
 
 How safe is treason, aud how Hacrcd ill, 
 Where none can sin against the people's will ; 
 Where crowds can wink, and no otlcnce be known. 
 Since in another's ^'uilt thi^ find their « wu ! 
 Yet fame deserved no enemy can grudge ; 
 The statesman we abhor, but praise the judge. 
 In Israel's courts ne'er sat an Abothdin 
 With more discerning eyes or hands more clean, 
 Unbribed, unsought, the wretched to redress ; 
 Swift of despatch and easy of access. 
 Oh, had he been content to serve the crown 
 With virtues only proper to the gown ; 
 Or had the rankness of the soil been freed 
 From cockle, that oppressed the noble seed ; 
 David for him his tuneful harp had strung. 
 But wild Ambition loves to slide, not stand I 
 And Fortune's ice prefers to Virtue's lancL 
 Achitophel, grown weary to possess 
 A lawful fame, a lasting happiness, 
 Disdafj, .[ the golden fruit to gather free, 
 And 1 ,; , -a crowd his arm to shake the tree. 
 Nov,, u^Hi'iiest of crimes contrived long since, 
 Ho siAfijd j*t bold defiance with his prince ; 
 Held up the buckler of the people's cause 
 Against the crown, and skulked behind the laws. 
 
 XZXI.— THE LEFEB. 
 
 , (WIIiLIS.) 
 
 Nathaniel Parker Willis was born at Portland, Maine, United States of America, 
 in 1817. He was Editor of the JVew rork Mirror, and atterwards of the IIoiiu 
 Journal His sketclies of a European tour, eiitillcd " Pencillings by tbe Way," 
 •re well known. 
 
 " Room for the leper ! room 1"— And, as he came 
 The cry passed on—'* Room for the leper! room!"— 
 Sunrise wiis slanting on the city'B gatuH, 
 liosy aud beautiful ; aud fioiu the hilla 
 
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 known. 
 
 Ige. 
 
 lean, 
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 Be. 
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 itesof Amerira, 
 rds of the I/omt 
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 cume 
 oom!' 
 
 THE LEPER. 
 
 Tlie early-risen poor were coming in, 
 Duly and cheerfully to their toil; and up 
 Rose the sharp hammer's clink, and the far hum 
 Of moving wheels, and multitudes astir. 
 
 And all that in a city-murmur swells, 
 
 Unheard but by the watcher's wcu.y ear, 
 Achinp: with night's duU silence; or the sick, 
 Hailing the welcome light and sounds, that chase 
 The death-like images of the dark away. 
 " Room for the leper ! " And aside th cy stood - 
 Matron, and child, and pitiless manho<jd,— all 
 Who met him on his ', y,~,nd let him pass. 
 And onward through the opeu gate he came, 
 A leper with the ashes on his brow, 
 Sackcloth about his loins, and on his lip 
 A covering,— stepping painfully and slow ; 
 And with a difficult utterance, like one 
 Whose heart is with an iron nerve put down 
 Crying, " Unclean ! Unclean ! " 
 
 'Twas now the first 
 Of the Judean autumn ; and the leaves. 
 Whose shadows lay so still upon his path. 
 Had put their beauty forth beneath the eye 
 Of Judah's loftiest noble. He was young, 
 And eminently beautiful ; and life 
 Mantled in elegant fulness on his lip. 
 And sparkled in his glance ; and in his mien 
 There was a gracious pride that every eye 
 Followed with benisons ;—And this was he ! 
 And he went forth— alone ! Not one of all 
 The many whom he loved, nor she, whose name 
 Was woven in the fibres of his heart 
 Breaking within him now, to come and speak 
 Comfort unto him. Yea, he went his way, 
 Sick, and heart-broken, and alone,- to die ! 
 For, God had cursed the leper ! 
 
 It was noon. 
 And Helon knelt beside a stagnant pool 
 In the lone wilderness, and bathed his brow 
 Hot with the burning leprosy, and touched 
 
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 THE LEPER, 
 
 The loathsome water to his fevered lips ; 
 
 Praying that he might be so blest — to die ! 
 
 — Footsteps approached; and with no strength 
 
 flee, 
 He drew the covering closer on his lip, 
 Crying, "Unclean! Unclean!" and, in the folds 
 Of the coarse sackcloth shrouding up his face. 
 He fell upon the earth till they should pass. 
 Nearer the Stranger came, and, bonding o'er 
 The leper'o prostrate form, -pronounced his name, 
 " Helon !" — The voice was like the master-tone 
 Of a rich instrument,— most strangely sweet ; 
 And the dull pulses of disease awoke, 
 And, for a moment, beat beneath the hot 
 And leprous scales with a restoring thrill ! — 
 " Helon, arise!" — and he forgot his curse. 
 And rose and stood befor'* Him. 
 
 Love and awe 
 Mingled in the regard of Helen's eye. 
 As he beheld the Stranger.— He was not 
 In costly raiment clad, nor on his brow 
 The symbol of a princely lineage wore ; 
 No followers at his back, — nor in his hand 
 Buckler, or sword, or spear ; — yet, if he smiled, 
 A kingly condescension graced his lips, 
 A lion would have crouched-to in his lair. 
 His garb was simple, and his sandals worn : 
 His stature modelled with a perfect grace ; 
 His countenance the impress of a God, 
 Touched with the opening innocence of a child ; 
 His eye was blue and calm, as is the sky 
 In the serenest noon ; his hair unshorn 
 Fell to his shoulders ; and his curling beard 
 The fulness of perfected manhood bore. 
 — He looked on Helon earnestly a while. 
 As if his heart were moved ; and, stooping down. 
 He took a little water in his hand. 
 And laid it on his brow, and said, " Be clean !" 
 And lo ! the scales fell from him ; and his blood. 
 Coursed with delicious coolness through his veins ; 
 
 to 
 
TUB FIELD OF WATERLOO. 
 
 And his dry palms grew moist, and on his brow 
 The dewy softness of an infant's stole : 
 His leprosy was cleansed ; and he fell'down 
 Prostrate at Jesus' feet, and worshipped him. 
 
 187 
 
 ;-^- 
 
 XXXn.— THE FIELD OP WATERLOO. 
 
 (btkon.) 
 
 Stop !-for thy tread is on an Empire's dust ' 
 An Earthquake's spoil is sepulchred below '— 
 Is the spot marked with no colossal bust? 
 Nor column trophied for triumphal show ? 
 None; but the moral's truth tells simpler so, 
 As the ground was before, thus let it be ;— ' 
 How that red rain hath made the harvest grow » 
 And IS this all the world has gained by thee 
 Thou first and last of fields ! King-making victory 1 
 
 There was a sound of revelry by night ^ 
 And Belgium's capital had gathered then 
 Her Beauty and her Chivalry ; and bright 
 The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men • 
 A thousand hearts beat happily; and when ' 
 Music arose with its voluptuous swell, 
 Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, 
 And all went merry as a marriage-bell.— 
 But hush !-hark ! A deep sound strikes like a rising knell I 
 
 Did ye not hear it ? No : 'twas but the wind, 
 Or the car rattling o'er the stony street ; 
 On with the dance !— let joy be unconfined ! 
 No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet 
 To chase the glowing hours with flying feet— 
 But hark !— that heavy sound breaks in once more 
 As if the clouds its echo would repeat; ' 
 
 And nearer, clearer, deadlier than befo're ! 
 
 Arm ! arm ! it is — it is — f.im ^QnTir>.,»« «,.„„,• . 
 
 -- — .,, ., .jjjcQiug iviir ; 
 
 ' A ball WM given In Brassels the .-ilght before tlie bsttl. of Quatre Bra* 
 
 :■ ■ '■). 
 
 1 >>'. 
 
188 
 
 TUK FIELD OF WATEULOO. 
 
 Within a windowed niche of that high hall 
 Sat Brungwick's fated chieftain : he did hear 
 That sound the first amidst the festival, 
 And caught its tone with Death's prophetic ear ; 
 And when they smiled because he deemed it near, 
 His heart more truly knew that peal too well, 
 Which stretched his father on a bloody bier, 
 And roused the vengeance blood alone could quell : 
 He rushed into the field, and, foremost fighting, fell M 
 
 Ah ! then and there was hurrying to and fro, 
 And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress. 
 And cheeks all pale, which, but an hour ago. 
 Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness ; 
 And there were sudden partings, such as press 
 The life from out young hearts, and choking sighs 
 Which ne'er might be repeated : Who could guess 
 If ever more should meet those mutual eyes. 
 Since upon night so sweet such awful morn could rise ! 
 
 And there was mounting in hot haste : the steed, 
 The mustering squadron, and the clattering car, 
 Went pouring forward with impetuous speed, 
 And swiftly forming in the ranks of war : 
 And the deep thunder, peal on peal, afar; 
 And near, the beat of the alarming drum. 
 Roused up the soldier ere the morning star : 
 While thronged the citizens, with terror dumb, 
 Or whispering, with white lips—" The foe ! they come ! they 
 come !" 
 
 And wild and high the " Cameron's gathering" rose ! 
 (The war-note of Lochiel, which Albyn's hills 
 Have heard— and heard too have her Saxon foes ') 
 — How, in the noon of night, that pibroch thrills, 
 Savage and shrill ! But with the breath which fills 
 Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers 
 With the fierce native daring; which instils 
 The stin-ing memory of a thousand years : 
 And Evan's, Donald's* fame, rings in each clansman's ears ! 
 
 ' He toll At Quatre Bias. ' Sir Kvaii Cameron, aud h.j deKemlant, Uouald, 
 
THE TORUINO OP TBE ANCHOR. 
 
 ^ewy witii nature s tear-drops, as thev nasa 
 Grieving, ,f aught inanimate e'er grieves-^ ' 
 Over the unreturning brave ;-aIas 
 E^e evening, to be trodden like the grass- 
 
 Of tilTl ?^^"^^V^■''«" this fiery mass 
 Ut living valour, rolling on the foe, 
 
 And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low ] 
 
 Last noon beheld them full of lusty life • 
 I^st eve, m Beauty's circle proudly gay' 
 The midnight brought the signal sound if strifo 
 
 '^' *"'^'^' ^oe,-m one red burial blent ! 
 
 189 
 
 
 ad! 
 
 XXXm-THE FORGING OP THE ANCHOE. 
 
 (SAMUBL PERauSON, M.R I A ) 
 
 Comb, ^ee the Dolphin, anchor f„.ged ..' •«, at » white he,t 
 ""M^J^-rbC' ''° ''"™' "'^-^^ "-ough „„ the 
 
 s^^i2i-ssitt--rts-i^i 
 
 A"d red and deep a hundred veins bu,.t out at eve„ throe ,■ 
 
190 
 
 THE FOROINQ OF THE ANCHOU 
 
 It rises, roars, rends all outright,— Vulcan, what a glow ! 
 'Tis blinding white, tis blasang bright, the high sun shines 
 
 not 80 ! 
 Tlie hi^'h sun sees not on the earth such fiery, fearful show ; 
 The roof-ribs swarth, the candent hearth, the ruddy lurid row 
 Of smiths, that stand, an ardent band, like men before the 
 
 foe; 
 As, quivering through his fleece of flame, the sailing monster 
 
 slow 
 Sinks on the anvil — all about the faces fiery grow — 
 "Hurrah!" they shout, "leap out — leap out:" bang, bang, 
 
 the sledges go : 
 Hurrah ! the jetted lightnings are hissing high and low; 
 A hailing fount of fire is struck at every squashing blow ; 
 The leathern mail rebounds the hail ; the rattling cinders 
 
 strow 
 The ground around ; at every bound the sweltering fountaina 
 
 flow; 
 And thick and loud the swinking crowd, at every stroke, 
 
 pant "Ho!" 
 
 Leap out, leap out, my masters ; leap out and lay on load ! 
 
 Let's forge a goodly Anchor, a bower thick and broad ; 
 
 For a heart of oak is hanging on every blow, I bode, 
 
 And I see the good ship riding, all in a perilous road ; 
 
 The low reef roaring on her lee, the roll of ocean poured 
 
 From stem to stern, sea after sea, the mainmast by the 
 board ; 
 
 The bulwarks down, the rudder gone, the boats stove at the 
 chains ; 
 
 But courage stili, brave mariners, the bower still remains ; 
 
 And not an inch to flinch he deigns save when ye pitch sky- 
 high. 
 
 Til en moves his head, as though he said, " Fear nothing — 
 here am I ! " 
 
 Swing in your strokes in order, let foot and hand keep time ; 
 
 Your blows make music sweeter far than any steeple's 
 chime ! 
 
 But, while ye swing your sledges, sing ; and let the burden be, 
 
 The Anchor is the Anvil King, and royal craftsmen we ; 
 
THE FORGING OF THE ANCHOR, IQJ 
 
 Strike m, strike in, the sparks begin to dull their rustling 
 Our hammers ring with sharper din, our work wiU soon bo 
 
 Sp6Cl I 
 
 Our anchor soon must change his bed of fiery rich array 
 For a hammock at the roaring bows, or an oozy couch of 
 Clay J 
 
 Our anchor soon must change the lay of meny craftsmen 
 
 For the Yeo-heave-o, and the Heave-away, and the sighing 
 seaman's cheer; ^ ** 
 
 ^^Tome '^^""^ '^'''^' ^* ^^^ ^'"'^ ^'^^^'' ^*' ^'"""^ ^^^« *°*^ 
 And sobbing sweethearts, in a row, wail o'er the ocean foam. 
 
 In livid and obdurate gloom he darkens down at last • 
 A shapely on^ he is, and strong, as e'er from cat was iast 
 Otrusted and fcrasi worthy guard, if thou hadst life like me 
 What pleasures -ould thy toils reward beneath the deej 
 green sea ! ^ 
 
 ^ ^thouT '^'''''' ^^"^ ""'^^^ *^'''' ^'^"^'^ '""'^ "S^^*' ^ 
 
 The hoary monsters' palaces ! methinks what joy 'twere now 
 
 whSeT ^ ^°^'''^ ^°'*''' """^'^ *^« assembly of the 
 
 And feel the churn'd sea round me boU beneath their 
 scourgmg tails ! 
 
 Then deep in tangle-woods to fight the fierce sea-unicorn 
 
 horn - "" ^''"''^ ''''^ bellowing back, for aU his ivory 
 To leave the subtle sworder-fish of bony blade forlorn 
 And for the^ ghastly grinning, shark, to laugh his jaws to 
 
 ^^ ^".^jP^^own on the kraken's back, where 'mid Norwegian 
 
 He lies, a lubber anchorage, for sudden shallowed miles: 
 liH snortmg like an under-sea volcano, off he rolls 
 Meanwhile to swing, a-buffeting the far-astonished'shoals 
 
 e," Vr ; ^ ••'••"-^"g v;,euii-cuivcs ;— or hapiy in a cove, 
 
 bliell-strown, and consecrate of old to some Undine's loie, 
 
 . -(> 
 
 i:fii 
 
 flnnj; 
 
 • ■ , 
 
 |^^^H[. 
 
 ; '!.. 
 
 ^^^H' ' 
 
 'i 
 
 ■3iry ; , 
 
 
 j 
 2t 
 
 im 
 

 lOS 
 
 TnK FORGING OF THE ANCHOR. 
 
 To find the long-haired mermaidens; or, hard by icy lands, 
 10 wrestle with the Boa-eerpent upon cerulean sands. 
 
 broad-armed Fisher of the deep, whose sports can equal 
 thine ? 
 
 The Dolphin weighs a thousand tons tliat tugs thy cable 
 line : 
 
 And night by night 'tis thy delight, thy glory day by 
 day. 
 
 Through sable sea and breaker white, the giant game to 
 
 play; 
 But, shamer of our little sports I forgive the name I gave- 
 A fishers joy is to destroy,— thine office is to save. 
 
 O lodger in the sea-kings' halls, couldst thou but under- 
 stand 
 
 Whose be the white bones by thy side, or who that dripping 
 
 Slow swaying in the heaving wave, tliat round about thee 
 bend, 
 
 With sounds like breakers in a dream, blessing their ancient 
 friend — 
 
 Oh, couldst thou know what heroes glide with larger steps 
 around thee, 
 
 Thine iron side would swell with pride, thou'dst leap within 
 the sea ! 
 
 Give honour to their memories who left the pleasant 
 
 strand, 
 To shed their blood so freely for the love of Fatherland- 
 Who left tlieir chance of quiet age and grassy churchyard 
 
 grave 
 So freely, for a restless bed amid the tossing wave— 
 Oh, though our anchor may not be all I have fondly sung, 
 Honour him for their memory, whose bones he goes 
 
 among ! 
 
TnEDAYOPTnEFUNElUl, jg^ 
 
 3ymy._THEDAY0PTHEPIWERAl. 
 
 (anon.) 
 Tills poem on the " Day of thn P,.n . .. 
 
 And earth won Zl J", f °'* "" ^'""d slill, 
 
 For one ivhole dTv ll, f '.I '' """'"^ " «™. 
 A father, anJwSf fata if "' ' "^ '""^ '»' 
 
 fcnto;speaIS.!?te°trdav"' 
 Au old man sees but once inilMtL. 
 
 W^tSTn'"' '° '"^ '»" "-' day 
 
 'I 
 
 
 
 
 lli 
 
I ;iiu. 
 
 Ml' 
 
 ]94 THE DAY OF THE PUNEUAL. 
 
 That stopped his sport to run and ask his sire 
 What it all meant, picked out the simple tale,— 
 How he who drove the French from Waterloo, 
 And crushed the tyrant of the world, and made 
 His country great and glorious,— Ac was dead. 
 All, from the simplest to the stateliest, knew 
 But one sad story,— from the cottar's bairn 
 Up to the fair-haired lady on the throne. 
 Who sat within and sorrowed for her friend : 
 And every tear she shed became her well. 
 And seemed more lovely in her people's eyes 
 Than all the starry wonders of her crown. 
 
 But, as the waters of the Northern Sea, 
 (When one strong wind blows steady from the pole), 
 Come hurrying to the shore, and far and wide 
 As eye can reach the creaming waves press on 
 Impatient ; or, as trees that bow their tops 
 One way, when Alpine hollows bring one way 
 The blast whereat they quiver in the vale,— 
 So millions pressed to swell the general grief 
 One way ;— for once all men seemed one way drawn ; 
 Or if, through evil hap and unforeseen. 
 Some stayed behind, their hearts, at least, were there 
 The whole day through,— could think of nothing else, 
 Hear nothing else, see nothing ! 
 
 In his cell 
 The student saw the pageant ; spied from far 
 The long-drawn pomp which reached from west to east, 
 Slow moving in the silence : casque and plume. 
 And banner waving sad ; the marvellous state 
 Of heralds, soldiers, nobles, foreign powers, 
 With baton, or with pennon ; princes, peers. 
 Judges, and dignities of church and state. 
 And warriors grown grey-headed ; — every form 
 Which greatness can assume or honour name, 
 Peaceful or warlike,— each and all were there ; 
 Trooping in sable sorrow after him 
 Who slept serene upon his funeral car 
 In olorious resti .... A chiUl might understand 
 
THE DinOE OF NICHOLAS. 
 
 m 
 
 XXXV.- THE DIEGE OP NICHOLAS. 
 
 IlARK hark Mo the telegraph bell! 
 
 Tl,. 1?'.^ "''''' "" *''« trembling, wiro 
 That well their mighty message tdl ' 
 
 In words of living fire; 
 A man lies dead 
 On a royal bed, 
 mo hath spilt man's blood like rain ; 
 iJUt Jus hour IS come, 
 And hia lips are dumb. 
 And he 11 never shed blood again. 
 Coihn lum coffin him under the sod 
 Nicholas Romanoff meets hia Goi>f 
 
 Speed the news by the swellii.,ji 
 And the hoof of the desert steed, 
 
 It fiTir T^':!^''^ "^-'^nei'. wail. 
 
 And fields where brave men bleed •- 
 Speed the news to the freeman's strand 
 
 And the captive's rayless cell- ' 
 
 ta^ he them o'er Siberian land. 
 
 body, 
 
 seared in heurl 
 
 -■y the xell tormentor's art. 
 And whisper low 
 O'er the silent suovv- 
 
 li 
 
 hi: 
 
196 THE DIRGE OF NICHOLAS. 
 
 " Exile ! raise your drooping head, 
 The Monarch of tlio Knout is dead !" 
 
 Send the welcome tidings forth, 
 O'er the pine woods of the Nortii— 
 Finland 1 arm you for the fight 
 With the hated Muscovite- 
 Swedes ! whom great Gustavus led, 
 Claim your own— the Tyrant's dead ! 
 
 Boar the tale to Schaniyl Boy, 
 
 The grey old Lion of the Hill, 
 Where amid his wild array. 
 
 He defies the Russian still ;— 
 And the Lion's whelps will roar. 
 Like the waves that lash their shore : 
 Launch the news, like darts of fire, 
 To fair Warsaw's shattered wall, 
 And let every trembling spire 
 Thunder forth the tocsin-call ; 
 Up, thou gallant Polish land ! 
 Back the steed, and grasp the brand ; 
 Let your lances shine like flame,— 
 On ! in Kosciusko's name ! 
 Lord and peasant, boy and man, 
 Forward, forward to the van !— 
 He who on your birthright trod. 
 Stands before wronged Poland's God I 
 
 Mourning woman ! lift your voice 
 From the black abyss of woe ; 
 
 Let your stricken soul rejoice 
 That the Spoiler's head is low— 
 Ye, who blistering tears have shed 
 For brothers, lovers, husbands dead - 
 Georgian, Turk, Circassian fair ! 
 Dry the cheek and braid the hair, 
 In the festal song take part, 
 Send the chorus from the heart- 
 Polish lady, Polish lass. 
 Sing the dirge of Nicliolas ! 
 
TUB FOUNDING OF TUB BKU. Jq; 
 
 XXXVI.-THE POUKDINQ OP THE BELL. 
 
 (O. MACKAT.) 
 
 Jf AUK ! liow the furnace panta and rours • 
 iliirk ! how the molten metal pours, 
 Aa bursting from its iron doors 
 
 It glitters in tiie sun ! 
 Now through the ready mould it flows, 
 Seethmg and hissing as it goes, 
 And filling every crevice up. 
 As the red vintage fills the cup: 
 
 Jlurrah I the work is done I ■ 
 
 Unswathe him now. Take ofi" each stay 
 I hat binds him to his couch of clay, 
 And let him stru^'gle into day; 
 
 Let chain and pulley run, 
 With yielding crank and steady rope, 
 Until he rise from rim to cope, 
 In rounded beauty, ribbed in strength 
 Without a flaw in all his length : 
 
 Hurrah! the work is done! 
 
 The olapper on his giant side 
 
 Shall ring no peal for blushing bride. 
 For birth, or death, or new-year-tidej 
 
 Or festival begun ! 
 A nation's joy alone shall be 
 The signal for his revelry • 
 And for a nation's woes alone 
 His melancholy tongue shall moan : 
 Hurrah! tlie work is done ! 
 
 Borne on the gale, deep-toned and clear, 
 His long, loud summons shall we hear, 
 When statesmen to their country dear,' 
 Their mortal race have run ." 
 
 I 
 
 '' 
 
 ^d 
 
 im 
 
 r^i 
 
I ! 
 
 IIP 
 
 I i 
 
 198 TUK FOUNDING OF THE BELU 
 
 When miiihty monarchs yield their breath, 
 And patriots sleep the sleep of death, 
 Then shall he raise his voice of gloom. 
 And peal a requiem o'er their tomb : 
 Uwrah! the work is done! 
 
 Should foemen lift their hau^'lity hand, 
 And dare invade us where we stand, 
 Fast by the altars of our land 
 
 We'll gather every one ; 
 And he shall ring the loud alarm, 
 To call the multitudes to arm, 
 From distant field and forest brown, 
 And teeming alleys of tlie town : 
 
 Hurrah I the work is done! 
 
 And, as the solemn boom they hear, 
 Old men shall graip the idle spoar. 
 Laid by to rust for many a year, 
 
 And to the struggle run ; 
 Young men shall leave their toils or books, 
 Or turn to swords their pruning-hooks ; 
 And maids have sweetest smiles for those 
 Who battle Aviih their country's foes: 
 
 Hurrah! the work is done! 
 
 And when the cannon's iron throat 
 Shall bear the news to dells remote, 
 And trumpet-blast resound the note. 
 
 That victory is won ; 
 While down the wind the banner drops, 
 And bonfires blaze on mountain-tops. 
 His sides shall glow with fierce delight. 
 And ring glad peals from morn to night : 
 
 II ur rail! iJie work is done! 
 
 But of such themes forbear to tell. 
 May never War awake this bell 
 To sound the tocsin or tlic knell ! 
 Hushed be the alarum gun ! 
 
THE LAUNCHING OF THE SHIP. 
 
 Sheathed be the sw.rd ! and may his voice 
 ^au tip the nations to rejoice 
 Tlmt War his tattered flag has furled 
 And vanished from a wiser world J ' 
 I/urrahl the work is done! 
 
 Still may he ring when straggles cease, 
 fetill may he ring for joy's increase, 
 I'or progress in the arts of peace, 
 
 And friendly trophies won '' 
 When rival nations join tlieir hands, 
 When plenty crowns the happy lands, 
 When knowledge gives new blessings birth 
 And freedom reigns o'er all the e- -th i 
 
 Hurrah! t!i,e wor!c is donei 
 
 109 
 
 i \ 
 
 XXXVII. -THE LAUNCHING OP THE SHIP. 
 
 (liONaFKLLOW.) 
 * * * * 
 
 All is finished ! and at length 
 
 Has come the bridal day 
 
 Of beauty and of strength. 
 
 To-day the vessel shaU be launched » 
 
 With fleecy clouds the sky Is blancliod, 
 
 And o'er the bay, 
 
 Slowly, in all his splendours dight, 
 
 The great sun rises to behold the sight. 
 
 The ocean old, 
 
 Centuries old. 
 
 Strong as youth, and as uncontroUed 
 
 Paces restless to and fro, ' 
 
 Up and down the sands of gold. 
 
 m 
 
 I 
 
 li ;. 
 
 ill 
 
 m 
 1 
 
I 
 
 ! 
 
 200 THE LAUNCHING OF THE SHIP. 
 
 His beating heart is not at rest ; 
 
 And far and wide, 
 
 With ceaseless flow, 
 
 His beard of snow 
 
 Heaves with the heaving of his breast. 
 
 He waits impatient for his bride. 
 
 There she stands. 
 
 With her foot upon the sands ; 
 
 Decked with flags and streamers gay, 
 
 In honour of her marriage day, 
 
 Her snow-white signals fluttering, blending 
 
 Round her like a veil descending. 
 
 Ready to be 
 
 The bride of the grey old sea. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 Then the Master, 
 AVith a gesture of command, 
 Waved his hand ; 
 And at the word. 
 
 Loud and sudden there was heard. 
 All around them and below. 
 The sound of hammers, blow on blow, 
 Knocking away the shores and spurs. 
 And see ! she stirs ! 
 
 She starts,— she moves, — sh.e seems to feel 
 The thrill of life along her keel. 
 And spurning with her foot the ground, 
 With one exulting, joyous bound. 
 She leaps into the ocean's arms ! 
 
 And, lo ! from the assembled crowd 
 There rose a shout, prolonged and loud. 
 That to the ocean seemed to say, 
 " Take her, bridegroom, old and grey ; 
 Take her to thy protecting arms, 
 With all her youth and all aer charms." 
 
 How beautiful she is ! h.ow ffsir 
 
 She lies within those arms, that pi-ess 
 
TUB LAUNCHING OF THE SHIP. 
 
 Her form with many a soft cuross 
 
 Ut tenderness and wutcliful cure ' 
 
 Sail forth into the sea, ship i 
 
 Through wind and wave, right'onward steer' 
 
 llie moistened eye, the trembling li„ 
 
 Are not the signs of doubt or fear. 
 
 Sail forth into the soa of life, 
 gentle, loving, trusting wife. 
 And safe from all adversity 
 Upon chb bosom of that sea 
 Thy comings and thy goings be i 
 ^or gentleness, and lovo, and trust 
 f'revail o'er angry wave and gust • 
 And in the wreck of noble lives 
 Something immortal still survives! ' 
 
 Thou, too, sail on, Ship of State > 
 bail on, Union, strong and great i 
 Humanity, with all its fears, 
 With all the hopes of future years 
 Is hangmg breatliless on thy fate '' 
 We know what Master laid thy keel 
 What workmoii wrought thy ribs of stool ; 
 Who made each mast, and sail, and rope; 
 What anvils rang, what hammers beat • 
 In what a forge and A^liat a heat 
 Were shaped the anchors of thy hope. 
 
 Fear not each sudden sound and shock • 
 
 1 is of the wave, and not the rock ; 
 
 Tis but the flapping of the sail, 
 And not a rent made by the gale. 
 In spite of rock and tempest roar 
 
 In spite of false lights on the shore 
 Sad on, nor fear to breast the sea ' ' 
 Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee 
 Our hearts our hopes, our prayers, our iear.s. 
 Uiu< laith triumpliaut o'er our fears 
 Are all with thee-are all with thei. 
 
 201 
 
 MU 
 
 iij 
 
 '■ ti 
 
 
 i \ - 
 
202 
 
 KING AIlTllUK AND QUKEN GUINKVEIIK. 
 
 XXXVin.-KING AETHTJE AND QUEEN GUINEVERE. 
 
 (TENNYSON). 
 
 The " Idylls of the KiiiR " is a poem consisting of four tales, throe of which are 
 derived from the legendary history of Kinc Arlhur and his Knights of the 
 Kound Table. This extract is taken from the Fourth Idyll, and represents 
 the last Intei-vlew between the King and Queen Guinevere, who is slung 
 with remorse for her guilty love of Sir Lancelot. 
 
 But when the Queen immersed in snch a trance, 
 And moving through the past unconsciously, 
 Came to that point, when first she saw the King 
 Ride toward her from the city, sighed to find 
 Her journey done, glanced at him, thought him cohl, 
 High, self-contained, and passionless, not like him, 
 " Not like my Lancelot" — while she brooded thus 
 And grew half-guilty in her thoughts again. 
 There rode an armed warrior to the doors. 
 A murmuiinL: whisper through the nunnery ran, 
 Then on a sudden a cry, "The King." She sat 
 Stiif-strickcn, listening ; but when armed feet 
 Through the long gallery from the outer doors 
 Rang coming, prone from off her seat she fell, 
 And grovelled with her face against the floor : 
 There with her milk-white arms and shadowy huir 
 She made her face a darkness from the King : 
 And in the darkness heard his armed feet 
 Pause by her ; then came silence, then a voice, 
 Monotonous and hollow like a ghost's 
 Denouncing judgment, but though changed, the King's : 
 
 " Liest thou here so low, the child of one 
 I honoured, happy, dead before thy shame 1 
 Well is it that no child is born of thee. 
 The children born of thee are sword and fire. 
 Red ruin, and the breaking up of laws. 
 The craft of kindreoi and the godless hosts 
 Of heathen swarming o'er the Northern Sea. 
 
KI1.G ARTHUR AXD QU.EN GUINKVEBK. 
 
 And of this remnant will I leave n nnrf 
 
 vvuuc, 1 know, if ancient prophecies 
 F r tl^ . /""' '^"^^ ^'"'^'^y ««re to live 
 
 Far off a solitary trampet blew. • 
 
 (When first I learnt thee hidden her°e) is '' t 
 The^pan.-whioh while I weighedX'itt with 
 
 Made my tears burn-is also past in nart 
 
 And beauty such as never woman wor?' 
 t-HMl It came a iciu^dom's curse withVhce 
 
 * * * . 
 
 203 
 
 ru| 
 
 'J\ 
 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 
 
 ^i 
 
 w 
 
isaid 
 
 201 
 
 i 
 
 KING ARTHUR AND QUEEN GUINEVERK. 
 
 My love through flesh hath wrought into my litb 
 
 So far, that my doom is, I love thee still. 
 
 Let no man dream but that I love thee still. 
 
 Perchance, and so thou purify thy soul, ^ 
 
 And so thou lean on our fair father Christ, 
 
 Hereafter in that world where all are pure 
 
 We two may meet before high God, and thou 
 
 Wilt spring to me, and claim me thine, and know 
 
 I am thine husband— not a smaller soul. 
 
 Nor Lancelot, nor another. Leave me that, 
 
 I charge thee, my last hope. Now must I hence. 
 
 Through the thick night I hear the trumpet blow : 
 
 They summon me their King to lead mine hosts 
 
 Far down to that great battle in the west, 
 
 Where I must strike against my sister's son. 
 
 Leagued with the lords of the White Horse and knights 
 
 Once mine, and strike him dead, and meet myself 
 
 Death, or I know not what mj'sterious doom. 
 
 And thou remaining here wilt learn the event ; 
 
 But hither shall I never come again. 
 
 Never lie by thy side, see thee no more,— 
 
 Farewell ! " 
 
 And while she grovelled at his feet, 
 She felt the King's breath wander o'er her neck ; 
 And, in the darkness, o'er her fallen head 
 Perceived the waving of his hands that blest. 
 
 Then, listening till those armed steps were gone, 
 Rose the pale Queen, and in her anguish found 
 The casement : " Peradvcnture," so she thought, 
 " If I might see his face, and not be seen." 
 And, lo, he sat on horseback at the door! 
 And near him the sad nuns with each a light 
 Stood, and he gave them charge about the Queen, 
 To guard and foster her for evermore. 
 And while he spake to these his helm was lowered, 
 To which for crest the golden dragon clung 
 Of Britain ; so she did not see the face, 
 Which then was as an angel's ; but she saw. 
 Wet with the mists and smitten by the lights, 
 
KINO ARTHUR AND QUEEN GUINEVERE. 
 
 The Dragon of the great Pendragonsliin 
 Llaze, making all the night a steam of fire 
 And even then he turned; and more and more 
 1 he moony vapour rolling round the Kiurr 
 Who seemed the phantom of a giant in it 
 Enwound him fold by fold, and made him grey 
 And greyer, till himself became as mist 
 liefore lier, moving ghost-like to his doom. 
 
 Arthur ! there her voice brake suddenly • 
 Ilien-as a stream that spouting from a cliff 
 J-ails in mid air, but gathering at the base 
 Ke-makes itself, and flashes down the vale- 
 vvent on m passionate utterance. 
 
 n J.1 , " Crone— my lord ! 
 
 Oone through my sin to slay and to be slain t 
 And lie forgave me, and I could not speak, 
 l^irewell! I should have answered his ftirewoll 
 Ills mercy choked me. Gone, my lord the King. 
 My own true lord I-howdare I call him mine? 
 Ihe shadow of another cleaves to me, 
 And makes me one pollution : he, the King, 
 Called me polluted: shall I kill myself? 
 What help in that? I cannot kill my sin 
 If soul be soul ; nor can I kill my shame': 
 JNo, nor by living can I live it down 
 The days will grow to weeks, the weeks to months 
 The months will add themselves and make the yeara 
 Ihe years will roll into the centuries, ' 
 
 And mine will ever be a name of scorn. 
 I must not dwell on that defeat of fame 
 Let the world be ; that is but of the world 
 What else? what hope? I think there was a hop^. 
 Except he mocked me when he spake of hope • 
 His hope he called it ; but he never mocks ' 
 For mockery is the fume of little hearts 
 Ami blessed be the King, who hath forgiven 
 My wickedness to him, and left me hope 
 That in mine own heart I can live down sin 
 
 205 
 
 ,< ' 
 
 MM 
 
I 
 
 20C THE BURIAL OF JACOB. 
 
 And be his mate lieroafter in the heavens 
 Before liigh God. Ah, great and gentle lortl, 
 Who wast, as is the conscience of a saint 
 Among his warring senses, to tliy knights — 
 To whom my false, voluptuous pride, that took 
 Full easily all impressions from below, 
 Would not look up, or half-despised the height 
 To which I would not or I could not climb — 
 I thought I could not breathe in that fine air. 
 That pure severity of perfect light — 
 I wanted warmth and colour which I found 
 In Lancelot — now I see thee what thou art, 
 Thou art the highest and most human too. 
 Not Lancelot, nor another. Is there none 
 Will tell the King I love him though so late ? 
 Now — ere L .' goes to the great battle 1 none : 
 Myself must tell him in that purer life, 
 But now it were too daring. Ah, my God, 
 What might I not have made of thy fair world. 
 Had I but loved thy highest creature herel 
 It was my duty to have loved the highest : 
 It surely was my profit had I known : 
 It would have been my pleasure had I seen. 
 
 ill 
 
 XXXIX.— THE BURIAL OF JACOB. 
 
 \REV. J. I>. nURNS.) 
 
 Mr. Bums Is autlior of " I'liu VUion of Proplieey, and othoi poeina" 
 
 It is a solemn cavalcade, and slow. 
 That comes from Egypt ; never had the land, 
 
 Save when a Pharaoh died, such pomp of woo 
 Beheld ; never was bier by such a band 
 Of princely mourners followed, and the grand 
 
 Gloom of tliat strange funereal armament 
 
 Saddened the wondering cities as it went. 
 
 In Goshen he had died, that region fair 
 Which stretches east from Nilus to the wave 
 
TIIK BURIAL OP JACOB. 
 
 207 
 
 Of the great Gulf; aud since lie could not bear 
 io lay his ashes in an alien grave 
 He charged his sons to bear them'to the cave 
 Where slumbered all his kin, that from life's cares 
 And weariness his dust might rest with theirs 
 
 F«r seventy days through Egypt ran the cry 
 
 Ul woe for Joseph wept: and now there came 
 Along with him the rank and chiv«lry 
 Of Pliaraoh's court,-the flower of Egypt's fame • 
 High captains, chief estates, aud lords of uaui. ' 
 llie prince, the priest, tlie warrior, and the sa-e ' 
 Made haste to join in that sad pilgrima-e ° ' 
 
 * * * * 
 
 The hoary elders in their robes of state 
 
 Were there and sceptred judges ; and the sight 
 Of their pavilions pitched without the gate 
 Was pleasant; chariots with their trappings briglit 
 Stood round,-till all were met, and every rite 
 Was paid ;-then at a signal the array 
 Moved with a heavy splendour on its way. 
 
 Its very gloom was gorgeous ; and the sound 
 yt brazen chariots, and the measured feet 
 
 Ot stately pacing steeds upon the ground 
 Seemed, by its dead and dull monotonous beat 
 A burden to that march of sorrow meet ; 
 
 With music Pharaoh's minstrels would have come 
 
 Had Joseph wished,-'twa8 better they were dumb 
 
 m * * * * 
 
 They pass by many a town then famed or feared 
 But quite forgotten now ; and over ground ' 
 lljen waste, on which in after time were reared 
 Uties whose names were of familiar sound 
 J^or centuries,-Bubastu8, and renowned 
 l^elusium, whose glories in decay 
 Gorged the lean desert with a splendid prey. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 The fiery sons of Ishmael, as they scour 
 The stony glens of Parau with their hordes, 
 
 i; .^' 
 
 i 
 
 ■ i, 
 
 j- 
 
 f 
 
 i 
 
 f: fii^m 
 
 ( 1 
 
 M' ^M 
 
:l 
 
 208 THE BURIAL OF JACOD. 
 
 Wiitoh tlicir array afar, but dread tlieir power : 
 Ilcro first af,'ainst mankind they drew their swords 
 In open warfare ; as the native lorda 
 Of the wild region hold tlieir free career, 
 And fenced the desert with the Arab spear. 
 
 Cut unmolested now the mourners pass, 
 Till distant trees, like signs of land, appear, 
 
 And pleasantly they feel the yielding grass 
 Beneath their feet, and in the morning clear 
 They see with joy the hills of Canaan near ; 
 
 The camels scent the freshness of the wells, 
 
 Far hidden in the depth of leafy dells. 
 
 * * # # 
 
 At length they reach a valley opening fair 
 With harvest field and homestead in the sweep 
 
 Of olive-sprinkled hills, where they prepare 
 The solemn closing obsequies to keep ; 
 For an appointed time they rest, and weep 
 
 With ceaseless lamentation, and the land 
 
 Rings with a grief it cannot understand. 
 
 * * * # 
 
 The rites thus duly paid, they onward went 
 Across the eastern hills, and rested not 
 
 Till, slowly winding up the last ascent. 
 They see the walls of Hebron, and the spot 
 To him they bore so dear and unforgot, 
 
 AVhere the dark cypress and the sycamore 
 
 Weave their deep shadows round the rock-hewn door. 
 
 Now Jacob rests whore all his kindred are, — 
 The exile from the land in which of old 
 
 His fathers lived and died, he comes from far 
 To mix his ashes with their mortal mould. 
 There where lie stood with Esau, in the cold 
 
 Dim passage of tho vault, with holy trust 
 
 His sons lay down the venerable dust. 
 
 They laid him close by Leah, where she sleeps 
 Far from her Syrian home, and never knows 
 
 1 
 \ 
 S 
 I 
 T 
 E 
 
 (KC 
 
SIHPWRRCK IN DUBLIN BAY 
 
 Another Jordan iZZf^lt'"'"'' """' "»■«■' 
 Well may ,|,ey sleep wlu, ean serenclv east 
 A look behind, while darkneas eloa™ f.^t 
 
 Upon th„,r path and breathe tlTy pa , „,j 
 for Thy salvation I have waited" Lorfl" •" 
 
 XL.-SHI1'WEECK m DUBLIH BAT. 
 
 (l)RDMMONr),) 
 
 How beautifully still is all around » 
 These sandy ndges and the wa ers sleeo 
 
 S t';Ker"|^''.ethiri„,s„r.e 
 mat they'areStS ™""™ "'»"" "-™ 
 
 » jiunea upon these sands. Elafp wif i, i, 
 Some hundred warriors wim n ^ ' ''"'"^' 
 
 --Xrt-ntr^-^^^^^^^ 
 
 209 
 
SHIP WRECK IN PUBfJN DAY. 
 
 Wrought ii- thoir souls, and all iho joys of homo 
 
 Rushed on tin ir fancy. Some in thought embraced 
 
 Their happy parents, ami' the lover clasped 
 
 His fair one to hia breast. Another mom, 
 
 And all these joys aro real ! Onward speed, 
 
 Thou fleet-winged bark! More fleet than sea-bird 
 
 skims 
 The flood, she sped. Soon Erin's shores arose ;— 
 Howth glimmered in the west, and Wicklow's hilla 
 Were blue in the horizon. Then they hailed 
 Their own green island, and they chanted loud 
 Their patriot gratulations, till the sun 
 Gave them his last farewell. He sank in clouds 
 Of red portentous glare ; when dreary night 
 Condensed around them, and a mountain swell 
 Announced the coming tempest. Wrapped in sleet 
 And arrowy fire, it came. The cutting blast 
 Smote sore ;— yawned the precipitous abyss ;— 
 Roared the torn surges.— From his slippery stand 
 In vain the pilot cast a wistful look. 
 Some friendly light to spy ;"-but all was dark ; 
 Nor moon, nor star, nor beacon-light, was seen; 
 While in the yeasty foam, half-buried, toiled 
 The reeling ship. At length that dreadful sound 
 Which mariners most dread— tho fierce, wild din 
 Of breakers, raging on the leeward shore,— 
 Appalled the bravest. On the sands she struck, 
 Shivering, as in the cold and deadly grasp 
 Of dissolution. Agonizing screams 
 Were heard within, which told that hope was fled. 
 Then might some counsel sage, perchance, have wrought 
 A great deliverance. But what shipwrecked ' r ;w 
 E'er list to counsel] W'iore 'tis needed most, 
 'Tis most despised. In such a fearful hour, 
 Each better feeling dies, and cruel self 
 Sears all of human in the heart of man. 
 None counselled safety— but a fell design 
 Rose in the captain's breast, above the throng 
 clono the hatches, while himself and crew 
 Fioe t V ciie boat, and hope or chance to 'scape 
 
TnE BATXAD OF I?oir. 
 
 Loavo to tho cnntivos nnno ti 
 
 «r .hip do jti:™,:.?: J xs"' ""'"' 
 Marc's. t!:;;;!i'"s;:r,'rr''«-'^' 
 
 Tl"<(r groans, „ "Crtn m! ?" "'"'■■ '"'"J"'™. 
 
 A^d the«rife of ,™, ^^^H^L" '^ """ '» "" 
 Ay-e en to pensi, i„ ,ho conflict Ji 
 
 Bnt thna to'dtLS Jlt^S,:? '■ ° »«»' 
 Aa m Rome den nf f.«n i m . ""'""'^cd, 
 
 Soch»,-eathrri^ cl^Sj^'-ain- 
 N™T * ™"i"i"«ly entombed Sf™ 
 Sbo drinks the fl,i,7l I ^^ ^"""""'8 "'■«» 
 
 21 1 
 
 p 6 
 
 X1I.-THE BAILAD OF EOU. 
 
 (BULWKR LTTTOJf.) 
 
 FnoMHoia to Sonli. wave by wav, rolled „„ the .V„™a„ 
 
 ^"'of ^ll? ^""'^ -"' «"8 down the weltering tide 
 Tiiere was not loft in oii ^i.^ i. , 
 
 Andn„tawirebntwa],;rS!a^StrorSa^ 
 
 f .'i 
 
 Hi 
 

 :! ^i 
 
 212 
 
 THE BALLAD UF ROU, 
 
 To Charles tlie king, the mitred monks, the nmllM barona 
 
 flew, , , i.1 1 
 
 While, shaking earth, behind them strode the thunder 
 
 march of Ron. 
 
 "0 king," then cried those barons bold, " in vain are mace 
 
 and mail ; , i -m 
 
 We fall before the Norman axe, as corn before the hail. 
 " And vainly," cried the pious monks, " by Mary's shrmo 
 
 we kneel ; 
 For prayers, like arrows, glance aside, against the Norman 
 
 steel." 
 The barons groaned, the shavelings wept, whilr- near and 
 
 nearer drew. 
 As death-birds round their scented feast, the raven flags of 
 
 Rou. 
 
 Then said King Charles, " Where thousands fail, what king 
 
 can stand alone ? 
 The strength of kings is in the men that gather round tlio 
 
 throne. 
 When war dismays my barons bold, 'tis time for war to 
 
 cease ; i r -rr 
 
 When Heaven forsakes my pious monks, the will of Heaven 
 
 is peace. 
 Go forth, my monks, with mass and rood, the Norman 
 
 camp unto, . , -o 
 
 And to the fold, witli shepherd crook, entice this grisly Ron. 
 
 " I'll give him all the ocean coast, from Michael Mount to 
 
 Eure, 
 And Gille, my child, shall be his bride, to bind him fast 
 
 ind sure * 
 Let him but kiss the Christian cross, and sheathe the 
 
 heathen sword. 
 And hold the lands I cannot keep, a fief from Charles his 
 
 lord." , „ 
 
 Forth went the pastors of the Churcli, the shepherd s work 
 
 to do, 
 And wrap the golden fleece around the tiger loins of Knu. 
 
,in are mace 
 
 THE BALLAI; OF ROU. 
 
 of dread ; ° """' "" »'"'™' "'"■■Ics, witW. the cam,, 
 "tld." ™™'^' ^-- K"u s.„„d .a„„r b, «,„ 
 
 J™:,';::rr*"'^«i'%„„.d,what.eod„f«r 
 
 i'ug to Kou .. "'"' -""l reap !-Tln,g saith tl,e 
 
 '■'^■«.i;othe«a,U,.„„e™e„as,n.„.Miol.aoUWu„ 
 
 «e,„„«„3U,.Ha,b.do,to.„d.,.„ra.ta„d 
 " tlion but inccl ta ft ■ t 
 
 paynim sivord, ' °'"' <^'"'' ""d slicatho Uiy 
 
 :;^!:;i'j:?'..'-'''"'"«--'.'-on.afie„.„„cw« 
 
 '""iSc'r "'*-"" """'-pCeto .bat a,.oK.»„„p 
 ■''Scr'^"''"'^'''"^-^*".'V„.Eu..otoM<cba.. 
 
 most, " ^^"^^ '^^<^^^^ose that give tlie 
 
 t:"^' ^»*- -" -" ''.. cbier t„ ,„a,. bis ,.„,„ 
 
 Soo-ora„bo..dc,at,.ea„,„,Ep.eca,„„Ko„,,^„,, 
 
 ^t'Safc with I 
 
 ■Juan, 
 
 CJah- ""''''' ''' ^^^ ^ing, enthroned 
 
 If. 
 
 Iiinj, 
 
 at 
 
 gi'ocn St. 
 
 Iff 
 
"'^■''*^'*"*^^f'i'-»S"Vi»!iS l,' 
 
 I 
 
 l! ^ 
 li \ 
 
 .1 
 
 V 
 
 ti.iAJiJL 
 
 214 
 
 THE BALLAD OF KOXT. 
 
 He placed his hand in Charles's hand,— loud shouted all 
 
 the throng ; 
 But tears were in King Charles's eyes— the grip of Rou was 
 
 strong. 
 " Now kiss the foot," the bishop said, " that homage still is 
 
 due ;" 
 Then dark the frown and stern the smile of that grim 
 
 convert, Rou. 
 
 He takes the foot, as if the foot to slavish lips to bring : 
 The Normans scowl ; he tilts the throne, and backward 
 
 falls the king ! 
 Loud laugh the joyous Norman men— pale stare the Franks 
 
 aghast ; 
 And Rou lifts up his head as from the wind springs up the 
 
 mast : 
 " I said I would adore a God, but not a mortal too ; 
 The foot that fled before i\ foe let cowards kiss 1" said Rou. 
 
 ill 
 
I-OCH-NA-QAER. 
 
 Olfl 
 
 SECTION IJ.-DOMESTIC AND NATIONAL 
 
 L-IOCH-NA-GAER. 
 
 (byron,) 
 
 Yet, Caledonia%e7oyrf 1 ?W ,'"/?'' ^"'^^ 
 
 On chieftains long peSedTv ^ '"" *''" *'' '• 
 As daily I strode thJoni ?lf •™°'''' P^J™''. 
 
 I Bought not mtm^mti^2'!'T^''''^ ^^'^ ■■ 
 
 Gave place to the ™ of L l?-\t'"f «'°'''^ 
 D«losed by the native, of dark Loch-S-Garr 
 
 S^ely the soul S';lrS^S"'"'° '=*'■■ 
 
 BotS^ Locratrr™ti!:'£t"" ^'^''^ ™'«- 
 WMer presides inhtold t'T' "'" «^"'™' 
 
 ney uwcH m the tempests of dark Xoch-ai-Garr. 
 "Ill-starred, thoijiri. T^™... j.;, 
 Ten yo„ that-fate- h^dltfe™ t^^ '"« 
 
 m:: 
 
 i i 
 

 216 AMERICA TO GREAT BRITAIN. 
 
 All ! were you destined to die at Culloden ? 
 
 Victory crowned not your fall with applause : 
 Still were you happy in death's earthly slumber, 
 
 You rest with your clan in the caves of Braeniar ; 
 Tlie pibroch resounds, to the piper's loud number, 
 
 Your deeds on the echoes of dark Loch-na-Garr. 
 
 Years have rolled on, Loch-na-Garr, since I left you, 
 
 Years must elapse ere I tread you again ; 
 Nature of verdure and flowers has bereft you, 
 
 Yet still are you dearer than Albion's plain. 
 England ! thy beauties are tame and domestic 
 
 To one who has roved on the mountains afar ; 
 Oh for the crags that are wild and majestic! 
 
 The steep frowning glories of dark Loch-na-Oarr. 
 
 II.— AMERICA TO GREAT BRITAIN 
 
 {WA8HIN0T0N ALLSION.^ 
 
 All hail ! thou noble land, 
 Our fathers' native soil ! 
 stretch thy mighty hand, 
 Gigantic grown by toil, 
 O'er the vast Atlantic wavo 
 
 to our shore ; 
 For thou, with magic might, 
 Canst reach to where the light 
 Of Phoebus travels bright 
 The world o'er ! 
 
 The genius of our clime, 
 From his pine-embattled steep 
 Shall hail the great sublime ; 
 While the Tritons of the deep 
 With their conch the kindred 
 
 league shall proclaim ; 
 Then let the world combine— 
 O'er the main our naval line, 
 Like the milky-way, shall shine 
 Bri.uht in fame ! 
 
AMKRICA TO GREAT BRITAIN. 
 
 Though ages long have passed 
 bmce our fathers left thoir home 
 Their pilot in the blast, 
 O'er untravelled seas to roam,— 
 Yet lives the blood of England 
 
 in our veins ! 
 And shall we not proclaim- 
 Tiiat blood of honest fame, 
 Which no tyranny can tanie 
 By its chains 1 
 
 While the language free and bold. 
 
 Which the bard of Avon sung 
 In which our Milton told 
 How the vault of Heaven run<r 
 When Satan, blasted, fell with^liis 
 
 host ; 
 While this, with reverence meet, 
 len thousand echoes greet, 
 From rock to rock repeat ' 
 Round our coast ; 
 
 While the manners, while the arts. 
 Ihat moidd a nation's soul. 
 Still cling around our hearts, 
 Between let ocean roll. 
 Our joint communion breaking 
 
 with the sun ; 
 Yet still, from either beach, 
 The voice of blood shall reacli, 
 J\Iore audible than speech,— 
 "We are one I" 
 
 217 
 
 *lii 
 
 ^1' '^ 
 
2IR 
 
 GRKAT BRITAIN TO AMERICA. 
 
 f] 
 
 
 rfa I 
 
 ni.— GSEAT BRITAIN TO AMERICA. 
 
 (tuppbb.) 
 
 Martin Farquliar Tupprr, author of " Proverbial Phllosopliy," was born In Ixin- 
 ilon In 181 1. His proso worktt are numerous and popular ; lila poetry consist* 
 of short liuccs. 
 
 Ho ! Brother, I'm a Britisher, 
 A chip of heart of oak, 
 That wouldn't warp or swerve or stir 
 From what I thouglit or spoke ; 
 And you — a blunt and honest man, 
 Straightforward, kind and true,— 
 I tell you. Brother Jonathan, 
 That you're a Briton too. 
 
 I know your heart, an open heart, 
 I read your mind and will, — 
 A greyhound ever on the stait 
 To run for honour still ; 
 And shrewd to scheme a likely plan. 
 And stout to see it done, — 
 I tell you. Brother Jonathan, 
 That you and I are one ! 
 
 There may be jealousies and strife. 
 For men have selfish ends, 
 But petty quarrels ginger life. 
 And help to season friends ; 
 And pundits who, with solemn scan, 
 Judge humans most aright. 
 Decide it, testy Jonathan, 
 That brothers always fight. 
 
 Two fledgeling sparrows in one nest 
 Will chirp about a worm, 
 Then how should eaglets meekly rest, 
 , The children of the storm ? 
 
18 born In Ixin- 
 poctry couHiatR 
 
 GKEAT BRITAIN TO AMERICA. 
 
 The eyne'8 dizzy side, 
 
 Like you and me, my Jonathan. 
 
 Its all for Love and Pride! 
 
 Andwc-Ohateusifyoucin, 
 J^ or we are proud of you,- 
 We like you. Brother Jonathan. 
 And "Yankee Doodle "too/ 
 
 There's nothing foreign in your face, 
 Nor strange upon your tongue • 
 
 Vou come not of another race' 
 ^rom baser lineage sprung • 
 
 No brother .'though away you ran. 
 As truant boys will do 
 
 Still true it is, young Jonathan, 
 My fathers fathered you. 
 
 Time was,-it wasn't long ago - 
 
 Your graudsire went with mine 
 
 io battle traitors, blow for blow. 
 
 •tor England's royal line- 
 
 Or tripped to court to kis's Queen Amie 
 
 Or worship mighty Bess I ' 
 
 And you and I, good Jonathan, 
 
 Went with them then, I guess. 
 
 Together both.-'twas long ago - 
 Among the Roses fought • ' 
 Or charging fierce the Pa^uim foe, 
 l>id all kuight-errants ought • 
 As Cavalier or Puritan 
 Together prayed or swore ; 
 S" John's own Brother Jonathan 
 was only John of yore I 
 
 219 
 
 ii 
 
 I' 
 
 KM 
 
 ■If, I 
 ■' ! ^1 
 
•■■I 
 
 220 GREAT BUJTAIN TO AMEKICA. 
 
 There lived a man, a man of men, 
 
 A king on fancy's tlironc ; 
 
 We ne'er shall see his like again, 
 
 The globe is all his own ; 
 
 And if we claim him of our clan, 
 
 He half belongs to you, 
 
 For Shakspere, happy Jonathan, 
 
 Is yours and Britain's too ! 
 
 There was another glorious name, 
 
 A poet for all time, 
 
 Who gained the double-first of fame, 
 
 The beautiful sublime ; 
 
 And let us hide him if we can, 
 
 More miserly than pelf, ■ 
 
 Our Yankee brother Jonathan 
 
 Cries " halves " in Milton's self! 
 
 Brother, could we both be one, 
 
 In nation and in name. 
 
 How gladly would the very sun 
 
 Lie basking in our fame 1 
 
 In either world to lead the van, 
 
 And go-a-liead for good. 
 
 While earth to John and Jonathan 
 
 Yields tribute gratitude ! 
 
 Add but your stripes and golden star.s 
 To brave St. George's cross. 
 And never dream of mutual wars, 
 Two dunces' mutual loss ; 
 Let us two bless when others ban. 
 And love when others hate. 
 And so, my cordial Jonathan, 
 We'll fit, I calculate. 
 
 AVhat more 1 I touch not holier strings, 
 A loftier strain to win ; 
 Nor glance at prophets, priests, and kinL:« 
 Or heavenly kith or kin. 
 
THR DEATH OP TIIK FIRST-Bonx. 
 
 A« friend with fncnd, and nm With ma» 
 <J let our hearts ho thus ' 
 
 A« David's love to Jonalhan, 
 iiQ Jonathan's to us ! 
 
 221 
 
 m 
 
 IT-IHI; DEATH OF THE FIEST-BOEN. 
 
 (alaric a. watts ) 
 
 cnes ; ^ ^^^^ ^' ""'^ ^'eard thy feehio 
 
 Fornho„,U„fa,Uhatr„a<,W„„,^I,,„„„„.,„^„,„ 
 Thy cLorry ,lp. „„d ,„„„, ,„„_ ^^ ^^^^^^^^^ ^__^ ^^ _^^,^ _ 
 
 SI '"'"""^ ''"■"•'-' H». to ,0,™ of ^,,f„„,, 
 A.d ao on,e, ™„,, „f a ,u.o,. worid ,...„„<, ,,,, „, „„„,„ 
 
 '"'11''°"'™"-"™-" ™- "- -M-of „c.eou.i„; 
 ^""4t:'! " ""•^™ ■' "'■' '"« ".- ™,t „,ar th, ,„„„,, 
 
 feara ; ' '"™ ''"'''™' «•■"'•<' Wgl.tcring in my 
 
 ;"'1.or«rtl;oi»;,'r"''-""'--">M«.oc«^ 
 
 A..d for the hopes™ e ^^^^T ""' ff™ ">" "" ""« ■' 
 «iy birth, *'" ''°P«' *l'--" Mossoraed at 
 
 The, to^o have flod, to prove how frai, arc Cherished th,Va 
 
 : 
 
 II 
 
 f I 
 
 i f 
 
=^AH»»MM|WMigi»«»MHi 
 
 II 
 
 Pfe ; 
 
 i"}i 
 
 i! 
 
 i 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 
 Ji 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
 B 
 
 s 
 
 222 
 
 THE DEATU OP THE FIRSTBORN. 
 
 'lis true that thou wert young, my chihl ; but though brief 
 
 thy span below, 
 To mo it was a little age of agouy and woe ; 
 For, from thy first faint dawn of life, thy cheek began to 
 
 fade, 
 And my lips had scarce thy welcome breathed, ere my hopes 
 
 were wrapped in shade. 
 
 Oh, the child in its hours of health and bloom that is dear 
 
 as >thou wert then. 
 Grows far more prized, more fondly loved, in sickness and 
 
 in pain ; 
 And thus 'twas thine to prove, dear babe, when every hope 
 
 was lost. 
 Ten times more precious to my soul, for all that thou hadst 
 
 cost! 
 
 Cradled in thy fair mother's arms, we watched thee, day by 
 
 day. 
 Pale like the second bow of heaven, as gently waste away; 
 And, sick with dark foreboding fears, wo dared no* breathe 
 
 aloud. 
 Sat, hand in hand, in speechless grief, to wait death's 
 
 coming cloud ! 
 
 It came at length : o'er thy bright blue eye the film was 
 
 gathering fast. 
 And an awful shade passed o'er thy brow — the deepest and 
 
 the last ; 
 In thicker gushes strove thy breath — we raised thy drooping 
 
 head: 
 A moment more— the final pang— and thou wert of the dead! 
 
 Tliy gentle mother turned away to hide her face from me, 
 And murmured low of Heaven's behests, and bliss attained 
 
 by thee ; 
 She would have chid me that I mourned a doom so blest as 
 
 thine. 
 
 Had not her own deep grief burst forth in tears as wild as 
 mine! 
 
THE DEATH OP THE PIRST-LOICN 
 
 fair and ™ect- '"'""°™' "'"o flowers not mo^ 
 
 They never ca„ r^e t fo wtrrr?'°f "' '"^ "-»■ 
 Tiey may bo lovely mil uZT^ l" '^'°''"''" """' : 
 
 "woXn w"""^ " """"""^ •'"Sht that one sweet 
 2 'StJtlU!™- "-->. »0 aioU, in llre-s 
 
 ^'^Zli^"- '^-^I' "y «>oom their soothin,, 
 ^"'Z^uZ J.-^ ■ -^ '«™ - *H When I t„ J 
 Pure^^^ ae snow.fl„,e ero it fall, an, .^, .,, ,^,„ ^^ 
 
 « Cete'j-lr/injSe'ihr'P' '"^ ™*' Mrth, 
 thirst, ' '°"° "" "Pn-8 for which so mny 
 
 A»abK eternal bliss, is thine, n,yfai« ana n,yFi«t, 
 
 'fiii 
 
 !■■ r 
 

 2i.'4 
 
 THK EXISTKNCE OV OOU 
 
 SECTION IH.-SACRED AND MORAL. 
 
 
 I.— THE EXISTENCE OF A GOD. 
 
 (youno.) 
 
 Dr. Kilward Yminir, nutlior of tlio " Nl^lit Thon«lit»," wn» hnrn In Ilanipslilre In 
 1C81, and died in 17C5, at his rectory of Welwyii, 1 1 llertfordililro. 
 
 Retire ;— the world shut out ;— thy thoughts call home ;— 
 
 Imagination's airy wing repress ; 
 
 Look up thy senses :— lot no passion stu* ; — 
 
 Wake all to Reason ; — let her reign alone : — 
 
 Then, in thy soul's deep silence, and the depth 
 
 Of Nature's silence, midnight, tlius inquire, 
 
 As I have done ; and shall inquire no more. 
 
 In Nature's channel, thus the questions run. 
 
 What am I ? and from whence 1 I nothing know, 
 But that I am ; and, since I am, conclude 
 Something eternal. Had there o'er been nought, 
 Nought still had been : eternal there nuist be. 
 But what eternal ?— Why not human race; 
 And Adam's ancestors without an end ?— 
 That's hard to be conceived, since every link 
 Of that long-chained succession is so frail : 
 Can every part depend, and not the whole 1 
 Yet, grant it true, new difficulties rise : 
 I'm still quite out at sea, nor see the shore. 
 Whence earth, and these briglit orbs ?— eternal too ?— 
 Grant matter was eternal ; still these orbs 
 Would want some other father. Much design 
 Is seen in all their motions, all their makes. 
 Design implies intelligence and art : 
 That can't be from themselves— or man ; tliat art 
 Man scarce can fomprolsend, could man bestow t 
 
ODE OP TrrANKsorvixo. 
 
 Wl.l""^^i'"* ^r' ''' y'^ ""'>^ve.l. than n.-.n - 
 
 To clanw, woul.l f„rm a univow „f ,I„st 
 Judgment, a„,l „e,m,a ) la it le„ . " r " 
 
 "'UOn but to 'MIOSS n \Tf>,„«. 1 . """' 
 
 V^ho think a clod inferior to a man ! • 
 it art to form ; and counsel, to rouduct- 
 And that with greater far than hum n kill 
 
 Ami, If a God there is. that God how Kroat ! 
 
 22.) 
 
 1 
 
 II—ODE OP THANKSGIVING. 
 
 (addison.) 
 
 How are thy servants blest, Lord ' 
 P, ^?^7«»";e is their defence! 
 Eternal Wisdom is their guide; 
 Their help, Omnipotenco. ' 
 
 I" foreign realms and hinds remote 
 
 Supported by thy care, 
 Through burning climes I j,nssed unhurt 
 
 And breathed in tainted air. 
 
 Thy mercv sweetened "— -i 
 
 ^^^^^*^ every region please: 
 f8a> j^ 
 
 ii; ! 
 
 ifii 
 
22fi ODE OF TIIANKHfJIVINt;. 
 
 The hoary Alpine hills it warmed, 
 And smoothed tlie Tyrrliene eeaa. 
 
 Think, my soul, devoutly think, 
 How, with affrighted eyes, 
 
 Thou saw'st the wide extended deep 
 In all its horrors rise ! 
 
 Confusion dwelt in every faee, 
 
 And fear in every heart, 
 When waves on waves, and gulfs on gulfs, 
 
 O'ercame the pilot's art. 
 
 Yet then, from all my griefs, Lord, 
 
 Thy mercy set me free ; 
 Whilst, in the confidence of prayer, 
 
 My soul took liold on Tliee. 
 
 For though in dreadful whirls we Inuig, 
 High on the broken wave, 
 
 1 knew thou wert not slow to hear, 
 Nor impotent to save. 
 
 The storm was laid, the winds retired, 
 
 Obedient to thy will : 
 The sea that roared at thy command, 
 
 At thy command was still. 
 
 In midst of dangers, fears, and death, 
 Thy goodness I'll adore ; 
 
 And praise thee for thy mercies past, 
 And humbly hope for more. 
 
 T't- 
 
 My life, if thou preserv'st my life. 
 
 Thy sacrifice shall be ; 
 And death, if death jnust be my doom, 
 
 Shall join my soul to thee ! 
 
'""'"'•""■•'"•.''"„„,„,,„ 
 
 £37 
 
 (brtant.) 
 "^ ' '^* ^twwi/ /'0.V/. ""'^- *'"' '" 18:'M become 
 
 A.KUI„,„e„r/£"«. ■"'<!« smile 
 
 Over %spiriu„d»d™:olt '■''''*''' 
 '-'I nie stern asonv nnri oi f 
 
 And breathless did tdH' '"" "••"'• 
 Make thee to shudder L° "'"."'"■'•<»' ''OMe, 
 
 Comes a siui voice^v., '^ *?*» of air,_ 
 
 Ti.e all-beh„ldi„7 „„! ' S 7 '"^'' '"'' "'^ 
 In all his course • T. f " "" ""^ 
 
 Where thy vZiZTsZiZ^" «""""• 
 JJor ■„ the embrace o "cea„ ,h ' ,'' """^ '""'^ 
 "'ly image. Earn, n ; ' "" *»»' 
 
 Py growth, tot^'ts rv,"';:t';.f *-■ «"." dai. 
 And, lost each hii.nnn I ^'*^' ^^ain .- 
 
 nine tadividl'i'SVXVt'r"*''"* "" 
 To mix for eve- witl, Tl , """ «" 
 
 To lie a hroS t^ f " ""™"'»' 
 AndtotheWi I ''»«?■'';''''"* 
 
 ^--io:;;:s;:;s-;:,:^%t:^. 
 
 iii 
 
 y I" • 
 
 1 
 
 i «' 
 
 Ir : 
 
228 THANATOPSrs; OR, A VIEW OF HEATIl. 
 
 Shalt thou retire alone— nor conld'st thou wish 
 
 Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down 
 
 With patriarchs of the infant world— with kings, 
 
 The powerful of the earth, the wise, the good, ^ 
 
 Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past, 
 
 All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills 
 
 Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun, — the vales 
 
 Stretching in pensive quietness between ; 
 
 The venerable woods — rivers that move 
 
 In majesty, and the complaining brooks 
 
 That make the meadows green ; and, poured round all, 
 
 Old ocean's grey and melancholy waste,— 
 
 Are but the solemn declarations all 
 
 Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, 
 
 The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, 
 
 Are shining on the sad abodes of death 
 
 Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread 
 
 The globe are but a handful to the tribes 
 
 That slumber in its bosom,— Take the wings 
 
 Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, 
 
 Or lose thyself in the continuous woods 
 
 Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound 
 
 Save his own dashings— yet— the dead are there, 
 
 And millions in those solitudes, since first 
 
 The flight of years began, have laid them down 
 
 In their last sleep— the dead reign there alone.— 
 
 So shalt thou rest— and what if thou withdraw 
 
 Unheeded by the living, and no friend 
 
 Take note of thy departure 1 All that breatlie 
 
 Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh 
 
 When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care 
 
 Plod on, and each one as before will chase 
 
 His favourite phantom ; yet all these shall leave 
 
 Their mirth and their employments, and shall como 
 
 And make their bed with thee. As the long train 
 
 Of ages, glide away the sons of men, — 
 
 The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes 
 
 In the full strength of years, matron and maid, 
 
 And the sweet babe, and the grey-headed man,~ 
 
 Shall one by one be gathered to thy side - 
 
FOREST HYMif 
 
 The iMUffloral^L „ fv. "'T""' ""'"^^ '" J^in 
 T» tiiat mysterion, rf I "' '"°™» 
 
 His chamli*X s S r M™ f "'> "■'•" '»'« 
 n«ni go not lit. I '""" °* ''w'li. 
 
 wiaro\!''„tr"£*7 »'■■«'■'. 
 
 229 
 
 IV.-POREST HYMN. 
 
 (brvant.) 
 
 And supphcatiou ^^^'f''* '"^'°^'^ t^'-^n^; 
 Might rot res ist ;i- '-' '""^^^ ^^'^^' 
 
 WhicJi from /^^ *^' '"*^^^d influences 
 
 Mingled thei moL bo 2 /'.I ^"^'^ ^'^ '^'^^^- 
 Of tlie invisible breltli t n "^ ^™ "^« ««""d 
 
 All tJieir green torn 1 / ''^^"^'^ ^* ^n^e 
 
 Acceptance i^ffiser ""''"■''"'"' 
 «»''--^a.„o»,,,„S;-^M.an^^_ 
 
 ; is : In 
 
 IMF 
 
 nil 
 
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230 
 
 FOREST HYMN. 
 
 J)i(lst weave this verduut roof. Thou didst look down 
 
 Upon the naked eartli, and forthwith rose 
 
 All theae fair ranks of trees. Tliey in thy aim 
 
 Mjidded, and shook their green leaves in thy breezp, 
 
 And shot towards heaven. Tlie century-living crow, 
 
 Whose birth was on their tops, grew old and died 
 
 Among their branches, till at last they stood, 
 
 As now they stand, massy, and tall, and dark,— 
 
 Fit shrine for humble worshipper to hold 
 
 Communion with his Maker. These dim vaults, 
 
 These winding aisles, of human pomp or pride 
 
 Report not. No fantastic^carvings show 
 
 The boast of our vain race to change the form 
 
 Of thy fair works. But thou art here— thou fill st 
 
 The solitude. Thou art in the soft winds, 
 
 That run along the summit of these trees 
 
 In music;— thou art in the cooler breath 
 
 That from the inmost djirkness of the i)laco 
 
 Comes, scarcely felt ;— the barky trunks, the ground, 
 
 The fresh moist ground, are all instinct with thee. 
 
 Here is continual worship .'—Nature here, 
 
 In the tranquillity that thou dost love, 
 
 Enjoys thy presence. Noiselessly around 
 
 From perch to perch the solitary bird 
 
 Passes ; and yon clear spring, that 'midst its herbs 
 
 Wells softly forth, and visits the strong roots 
 
 Of half the mighty foreot, tells no tale 
 
 Of all the good it does. Thou hast not left 
 
 Thyself without a witness, in these shades, 
 
 Of thy perfections. Grandeur, strength, and grace 
 
 Are here to speak of Thee. This mighty oak— 
 
 By whose immovable stem I stand and seem 
 
 Almost annihilated— not a prince. 
 
 In all that proud old world beyond the deep 
 
 E'er wore his crown as loftily as he 
 
 Wears the green coronal of leaves, with which 
 
 Thy hand has graced him. Nestled at his feet 
 
 Is beauty, such as blooms not in the glare 
 
 Of the broad sun. That delicate forest flower, 
 
 With scented breath, and look so like a smile. 
 
FOUEST HYMN. 
 
 Scorns, as it isisnes fmm +] , 
 
 ^i'at are the soul of tin, wide univ'tSe. 
 
 My heart is awed within nie when T M ■ i 
 Of the ,.reat niiracle tJ.at still 4es on '"^ 
 ■in silence round mo fi " " 
 
 Wave not less j.nn.dn,",, ,?':^' ^"^*^- t-'ee.^ 
 
 Moulder bcnealhtS''' Oh 2'""^^^^^^^ 
 One of earth's charn . , ^''' .^'^'^'^ ^« "ot Jo.st 
 
 Of Im aroh-ei t D 1"'°* *' '<"<= '»'« 
 Upon the tyranfg th™. «'"' '""" '"'"»«'' 
 
 >.o««.i„e„w„b„3oCn°uhJ,rt::;r::r' 
 
 Their lives to tlio.illT *' »"'' «»« 
 
 Le-B aged tiiau tlie i,2v trZ ' 7 *"'""'' 
 ^noteSlt^i'S-^-'"- 
 
 My feeble virtue nl'eifl '"'' 
 The passions, at thy 2, f' T'T' 
 And tremble.' and «r/^?"f' 5:°i«*^^« shrink, 
 
 I^oat scare the .o.^dwi;;;-te^:;:^,-rr^::^" 
 
 231 
 
 
 IW; 
 
 f^'f 
 
 !■ 
 

 I'm 
 
 i. 
 
 if 
 
 Ik 
 
 II 
 
 M: 
 
 232 all's for the best. 
 
 Tlie heavens with falling thunderbolts, or fill 
 With all the waters of the firmament 
 The swift dark whirlwind that uproots the woodn 
 And drowns the villages ; when, at thy call, 
 Uprises the great deep, and throws himself 
 Ui)on the continent and overwhelms 
 Its cities- who forgets not, at the sight 
 Of these tremendous tokens of thy power. 
 His pride, and lays his strifes and follies by ? 
 Oh, from tliese sterner aspects of thy face ' 
 Si)are me and mine, nor let us need the wrath 
 Of the mad unchained elements to teach 
 Who rules them. Be it ours to meditate, 
 In these calm shades, thy milder majesty, 
 And to tlie beautiful order of thy works 
 Learn to conform the order of our lives. 
 
 V.-ALL'S FOR THE BEST. 
 
 (XCPPKR.) 
 
 All's for the best ! be sanguine and cheerful. 
 
 Trouble and sorrow are friends in disguise ; 
 Nothing but Folly goes faithless and fearful, 
 
 Courage for ever is happy and wise : 
 All for the best,— if a man would but know it, 
 
 ProA'idence wishes us all to be blest ; 
 This is no dream of the pundit or jioet. 
 
 Heaven is gracious, and— All's for the best ! 
 
 All for the best ! set this on your standard, 
 
 Soldier of sadness, or pilgrim of love. 
 Who to the shores of Despair may have wandered, 
 
 A way-wearied swallow, or heart-stricken dove. 
 All for the best ! be a man but confiding, 
 
 Providence tenderly governs the rest. 
 And thb frail bark of His creature is guiding 
 
 Wisely and warily all for the best. 
 
 J 
 1 
 A 
 C 
 T 
 A 
 
 A; 
 L( 
 
 Al 
 
MAN. 
 
 And in the midst of '"r ^''' '" *''« ^'^"• 
 
 Trust liJce a chiJd 17m °=''' °'' ^''^'^ 
 All's for tile be -'S^' ^? «^"^« ^^^e a man 
 
 233 
 
 VI.-MAN. 
 
 (rocNo.) 
 
 fv. "^". ^""led and dishonoured still ri; • , 
 
 Thought 4nderTup and ii "^'^ ' '*^'""^«'-' 
 And wonderingat Ixe'otn w'"'P"''^' ^^'^■''^t. 
 what a mira'cL to ma^f^ ma?"""^^ ^'^'^ "' 
 ^nurapJiantly distressed f M'lTa^W .w , 
 A ernat,,, transported, and atSd" ^^ ''''' ' 
 ;\ hat can preserve my life or wUf^ x 
 An angel's arm can't s'atth 4 frtt^" ' 
 Legion^s of angels^can't confine me tTie^t^^'^'^'' 
 All, all on earth i^ shadow.*,]] beyond 
 
 «■!(. 
 
 r; 
 
 
 Iff , / 
 
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ti 
 
 m 
 
 234 
 
 MAN. 
 
 Is substance; tlie reverse is foliy's creed : 
 How solid all, where change shall ])e no more ! 
 
 Yet man, fool man ! here buries all his thou^hU; 
 Inters celestial hopes without one sigh. 
 Prisoner of earth, and pent beneath the moon, 
 Here pinions: all his wishes ; winged by Heaven 
 To fly at infinite ; and reach it there, 
 Where seraphs gather injmortality, 
 On life's fair tree, fast by the throne of God. 
 What golden joys ambrosial clustering glow 
 In His full beam, and ripen for the just, 
 Where momentary ages are no more ! 
 Where time, and pain, and chance, and death expire 1 
 And is it in the flight of threescore year.s, 
 To push eternity from human thought. 
 And smother souls immortal in the dust 1 
 A soul immortal, spending all her fires. 
 Wasting her strength in strenuous idleness, 
 Thrown into tumult, raptured or alarmed, 
 At aught this scene can threaten or indulge, 
 Resembles ocean into tempest wrought, 
 To waft a feather, or to drown a fly. 
 
 Of man's miraculous mistakes, this bears 
 The palm, " That all men are about to live," 
 For ever on the brink of being born. 
 Ail pay themselvep the compliment to think 
 They one day shall not drivel : and their pride 
 On this reversion takes up read> nraise— 
 At least, their own ; their future selves ajjplaud ; 
 How excellent that life they ne'er will lead ! 
 Time lodged in their own hands is folly's vaila; 
 That lodged in fate's, to wisdom they consign ; ' 
 The thing they can't but purpose, *.hey postpone ; 
 'Tis not in folly, not to scorn a fool ; 
 And scarce in human wisdom, to do more. 
 All promise is poor dilatory man. 
 And that through every stage : when young, indeed, 
 In full content we, sometimes, nobly rest, 
 Unanxious for ourselves ; and only wish, 
 As duteous sons, our fathers were mor* wise. 
 
 !■■ 
 
THE Pl/LPJT. 
 
 uluT ^""^^"* P^^P-^^^ 'o resolve • 
 
 All men think d Cl^ jf /! "««^^ """-rtal. 
 Themselves, when sZ. , "' t^^emselves; 
 Strikes throu^ tLi If ?";"« ^^^^^ of fate 
 
 But their hedsZZTukt ^^'^ ''V''''^ ^^^^^ 
 «"on close ; where n- « L i i ' "'""'"^^''^ '*''•. 
 
 As from tl<; winrno 1 f '''f ' "° ''"''^^•^ '« ^<^"«<I. 
 Tu , , "'"« "o soar the skv rpfQi"..r, 
 J he parfed wnvo .,.> <> •'^ retains 
 
 83d 
 
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 VII.— THE PULPIT. 
 
 (COWPKR.) 
 
 William Cowper, autlmr of " Tal.ln t„ii, .. ^u 
 
 10 such I render more than mere resneof 
 
 Fri ; -^ ''"'' rapacious and profuse • 
 frequent m park with lady at hfs s dl ' 
 
 withh" ^°"^'' ^°^ "^^^'^ «t his books ■ 
 Oriadyshi,.-:^^:;;-^^-^^^^^ ■ 
 
 :: f^ 
 
236 
 
 fr 
 
 
 THK PULI'IT 
 
 Ambitious of prefciniciit for its gold ; 
 
 And wyl! projuinul, by ijriioiaiico and sloth, 
 
 By infidelity iind lovo of world, 
 
 To make God's work a sinecme ; a slave 
 
 To his own pleasures and his patron's jiride : -- 
 
 From such ai)ostles, oh, ye mitred lieads, 
 
 Preserve the Church ! and hiy not careless hand?) 
 
 On skidis that cannot teach, and will not learn. 
 
 Would I describe a jtreacher, such as Paul, 
 Were he on earth, woidd hear, approve, and own, 
 Paul should himself direct me. I would trace 
 His master-strokes, and draw from liis deRi<,Mi. 
 I would express him siiiijjle, grave, sincere " 
 In doctrine uncorrupt ; in language plain, 
 And plain in manner ; decent, soleiiin, chaste, 
 And natural in gesture ; much impressed 
 Himself, as conscious of his awful charge. 
 And anxious maiidy that the flock he feeda 
 May feel it too ; afiectionate In look, 
 And tender in address, as well becom ds 
 A messenger of grace to guilty man. 
 Behold the picture I—Is it like ?— Like whom ? 
 The things that mount the rostrum with a skip, 
 And then skip down again ; pronounce a text; ' 
 Cry— hem ; and reading what they never wrote, 
 Just fifteen minutes, huddle up their work 
 And with a well-bred whisper close the scene ! 
 
 In man or woman, but far most in man, 
 And most of all in man that ministers 
 And serves the altar, in my soul I loathe 
 AH affectation. 'Tis my perfect scorn ; 
 Object of my implacable disgust. 
 What .'—will a man play tricks, will he indulge 
 A silly, fond conceit of his fair form, 
 And just proportion, fashionable mien, 
 And pretty face, in presence of his God ? 
 Or will he seek to dazzle lae with tropes, 
 As with the diamond on his lily hand ; 
 And play his brilliant parts before my eyea, 
 When I am hungry for the bread of life ^ 
 
■"'AMANDCTET'.r^n^o,,^, 
 
 And start tho';" ' *'"'' ^^^''^ 
 
 'foan at convpnfiVJ-. u ^^a"g 
 J^i«Ied by cTtl i' ? '''"'■*''^ '««". 
 
 :i37 
 
 ^I-ADAM AND EVE IN PAEALI8E. 
 
 (MILTON.) 
 
 John Mllfon. theson ofa imM 
 
 Sl-e all ",ht bm-f '"''""^''' "iKl'W'igale; 
 With living 4Ses SI,f "''i'" ''™'"'""" 
 
 vvnen Adam thus to Pvo . « n • "^- 
 Of niKlU, and all ZllZZtk""'"."^'" "" '""" 
 
 f*!|; 
 
 h ' 
 
f 
 
 " *. 
 
 t38 
 
 ADAM AND EVE IN PARADISK. 
 
 I^lwur and rest, as day and night, to men 
 Successive; and the timely dew of sleep, 
 Now falling with soft Blumbrons weight, inclines 
 Our eyelids : other creatures all day long 
 Rove idle, unemployed, and less need rest; 
 Man liath his daily work of body or mind 
 Appointed, which declares his dignity, 
 And the regard of Heaven on all his ways; 
 While other animals inactive range. 
 And of their doings God takes no account. 
 To-morrow, ere fresh morning streak the east 
 With first approach of light, we must bo risen, 
 And at our pleasant labour, to reform 
 Yon flowery arbours, yonder alleys green, 
 Our walk at noon, with branches overgrown, 
 That mock our scant manuring, and require 
 More hands than ours to lop their wanton growth : 
 Those blossoms also, and those dropping gums, 
 That lie bestrewn, unsightly and unsmooth. 
 Ask riddance, if we mean to tread with ease ; 
 Meanwhile, as nature wills, night bids us rest," 
 
 To whom thus Eve, with perfect beauty adorned 
 " My author and disposer, what thou bidd'st, 
 Unargued I obey ; so God ordains.— 
 God is thy law ; thou, mine : to know no more 
 Is woman's happiest knowledge, and her praiwe! 
 With thee conversing, I forget all time ; 
 All seasons, and their change— all please alike. 
 Sweet is the breath of morn— her rising sweet. 
 With charm of earliest birds ; pleasant the sun. 
 When first on this delightful land he s-iireads 
 His orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flower, 
 Glistering with dew ; fragrant the fertile earth 
 After soft showers ; and sweet the coming on 
 Of grateful evening mild ; then silent night, 
 With this her solemn bird, and this fair moon, 
 And these the gems of heaven, her starry train : — 
 But neither breath of morn, when she ascends 
 With charm of earliest birds ; nor rising sun 
 On this delightful land ; nor lierK fruit, flower, 
 
SATAN'S ADDRKSS TO T11K8U.V 
 
 WitJi this her soWm i ' "' "^*'"* "'^''t, 
 
 K ''^^ "Silt, without thee, ia sweet!" 
 
 230 
 
 W-SATAN'S ADDEES8 TO THE SUN. 
 
 (MUTON.) 
 
 MiJe .heir dtaS J l™? « f ' "" 'he „„. 
 
 But with no frinn,1I. • ^^*° ^'^66 I call. 
 
 In that bright eminence, a.^i w tJi r ' , 
 Upbruided none; nor wL , '^"'' ."^« fe'^oJ 
 WJiat could be less H * ^"l.««^^'«e ^^ard. 
 
 The easiest roitVnVn "1'^^ P''^'^' 
 How due f yet all hi ' , ^""^ ^'"^ ^^^nks ' 
 
 AndwrougK ,f::'sr;^"^-"-. 
 
 I disdained subje. ion a '.^h ? '"^ ^'^^'' 
 Would set me £ «?' and i ''"'"''' °"^«'^P '''*^^'"^- 
 The debt iiomense oAnSf "" '""™'^* ^"^«' 
 So burdensome ?Kn ^^''' g''''^titude- 
 
 And understood notVl ,? '"'^''"^ ' 
 
 Bv owin.. owes n ^K ^ *• ^"''*'^"^ """'^ 
 Jndebted'and ciLl ' "'/'^" P'-^^^' ^* ""^e 
 
 II;"i?7';/^!^""^'-"cIedhopeLrn.>d 
 """■^ --c why ,,t? some other Power 
 
 Itf 
 

 240 
 
 SATAN'8 address to TIIK STJy. 
 
 As great, might have aspired ; and me, thougli mean, 
 
 Drawn to his part ; but other Powers as great 
 
 Fell not, but stand unshaken, from within 
 
 Or from without, to all temptations armed. 
 
 Hadst thou the same free will and power to stand ? 
 
 Thou hadst : whom hast thou, then, or what to accuse, 
 
 But Heaven's free love dealt equally to all ? 
 
 Be, then, his love accursed ! since, love or hate, 
 
 To me alike, it deals eternal woe ! 
 
 Nay, cursed be thou I since against his thy will 
 
 Chose freely what it now so justly rues. 
 
 Me miserable ! which way shall I fly 
 
 Infinite wrath, and infinite despair? 
 
 Which way I fly is Hell ! myself am Hell ! 
 
 And, in the lowest deep, a lower deep, 
 
 Still threatening to devour me, opens wide, 
 
 To which the Hell I suffer seems a Heaven ! 
 
 Oh, then, at last relent ! is there no place 
 
 Left for repentance ? none for pardon left 1 
 
 None left but by submission : and that word 
 
 Disdain forbids me, and my dread of shame 
 
 Anriong the spirits beneath, whom I seduced 
 
 With other promises and other vaunts 
 
 Than to submit, boasting I could subdue— 
 
 The Omnipotent ! Ah me ! they little know 
 
 How dearly I abide that boast so vain ; 
 
 Under what torments inwardly I groan, 
 
 While they adore me on the throne of Hell. 
 
 With diadem and sceptre high advanced, 
 
 The lower still I fall ; only supreme 
 
 In misery.— Such joy ambition finds ! 
 
 But say I could repent, and could obtain, 
 
 By act of grace, my former state— how soon 
 
 Would height recall high thoughts ; how soon unsay 
 
 What feigned submission swore ! Ease would recaut 
 
 Vows made in pain, as violent and void ; 
 
 For never can true reconcilement grow 
 
 Where wounds of deadly hate have pierced so deep— 
 
 Which would but lead me to a worse relapse 
 
 And heavier fall ; so should I purchase dear 
 
 1 
 
SPEECH OF BELIAL IN COUNCIL 
 
 ^rom grant! X : tfi4^^^^ '' '^^• 
 
 ^l hope excluded thus b2n^^^°»^ ^'''''' 
 Of us outcast I exiled iJ"^' J"'*'^^ 
 Mankind crea ed an A V-''" ^"^'^''*' 
 So, farewell hope', and win"." ""^ ^^°^^•^• 
 Farewell remor's ) XZdt^''''' .^^^^^ ^^ar ! 
 Fvil, be thou my good U.v f J V? ^"'*- 
 I>ivided empire wfthTT ^^*^"V* ^^^st 
 By thee, and mo,r hafhT' ^'°° ^ ^''^^' 
 As man ere loT. and tl.f, ^'''''^^ ^"^ ^^'^n; 
 
 °' ''°'' "''^ »e^ ^vorld, ehall Low ' 
 
 X.-SPEECH OP BELIAL IN COUNCIL. 
 
 (mii-ton.) 
 
 dropped mamn a^ 7 ' *'^^"^''^ ^'^ to»guo 
 
 A^,d With pe^alit'^r StC*"'"'- 
 
 Main rcJuLl^Zifi^'V'^ "'""J- 
 DM not d^mdrrlj ?';'''''''' «■■■ 
 Ominous conieet„?r„^?f • "','"'™ '» ™^' 
 
 w.e„he,wKrtr„ti:'f:rr"^ 
 
 In what he counsels n,„l i, , . '''"■°'»' 
 Mistrustful, pZ'l h ' "'"" ''™'»' 
 And utter dis^so t the?" °" *'"""'- 
 S wllf""' •'"■""■ ™"«^ di™ revenge 
 ^•«.. hat revenue, T,,e t,.wcr, of Heave,, are «„ed 
 
 241 
 
 ni 
 
 \ ^n 
 
 (U:i^ 
 
242 spEEcn OF belial in council. 
 
 With armed watch, that render all access 
 Impregnable : oft on the bordering deep 
 Encamp their legions ; or, with obscure wing, 
 Scout far and wide into the realm of night, 
 Scorning surprise. Or could we break our way 
 By force, and at our heels all Hell should rise 
 With blackest insurrection, to confound 
 Heaven's purest light ; yet our great enemy. 
 All incorruptible, would on his throne 
 Sit unpolluted ; and the ethereal mould. 
 Incapable of stain, would soon expel 
 Her mischief, and purge off the baser fire, 
 Victorious. Thus repulsed, our final hope 
 Is flat despair : we must exasperate 
 The Almighty "Victor to spend all his rage, 
 And that must end us ; that must be our euro. 
 To be no more. Sad cure ! for who would lose, 
 Though full of pain, this intellectual being, 
 Those thoughts that wander through eternity. 
 To perish rather, swallowed up and lost 
 In the wide womb of uncreated night. 
 Devoid of sense and motion? And who knows, 
 Let this be good, whether our angry foe 
 Can give it, or will ever? how he can. 
 Is doubtful ; that he never will, is sure. 
 Will he, so wise, let loose at once his ire, 
 Belike through impotence, or unaware, 
 To give his enemies their wish, and end 
 Them in his anger, whom his anger saves 
 To punish endless? ' Wherefore cease we, then V 
 Say they who counsel war ; ' we are decreed. 
 Reserved, and destined to eternal woe ; 
 Whatever doing, what can we sufibr more, 
 What can we suffer worse ?' Is this then worst, 
 Thus sitting, thus consulting, thus in arms ? 
 What! when we fled amain, pursued, and stmck 
 With Heaven's afflicting thunder, and besought 
 The deep to shelter us!— this Hell then seemed 
 A refuge from those wounds: or wlion we lay 
 Chained on the burning lake !— that sure was worse. 
 
SPEECH OP BELIAL LV COUNCIL. 
 
 rCMltSw^^^^^^^^ *^- ^"- fi..o. 
 
 And Pluige us in Cfl '. ° ''^'°^"'^ ^^^'«. 
 
 His red right hand to pW 'T m". •. 
 Her stores were onpn^/ ^i ., • ^^^^'^ ^^ '•" 
 
 Of Hci, *o„,TsStit':.?s"'™' 
 
 Acrpp .. r. ; ^ ""P'*'^^'' "nreprieved, 
 
 ^- 'o^lessend? This would l,e worse 
 
 iUL aimigdty to resist our mirfit 
 
 ^hams and these torments ? Rnff ^, ""^'^ 
 
 By my advice, since S evitab " """ '^'^" ^^--• 
 
 Subdues us, and omnipotent decr^^^ 
 
 OurJ r"'"- To suffer, as to do 
 Our strength is equal, nor the law unhist 
 That so ordains: this was at first r so ved 
 If we were wise, against so great a fSe 
 
 The sentence of their conqueror ' TJ.L • 
 Our doom • tiri,?„i •<• ""*J"^'or. iins is now 
 aoom , which if we can sustain and bear, 
 
 243 
 
 ii' 
 
 If ;:l 
 
 II'::, I; 
 

 244 
 
 SPKECH OF BT.UXl. IN COUNCIL. 
 
 Our supreiuft foe iu time may much remit 
 
 His anther; and perhaps, thus fur removed, 
 
 N mind us not offending, satisfied 
 
 With what is punished ; wlienoe these racing fii'es 
 
 Will slacken, if his breath stir not their flanies. 
 
 Our purer essence then will overcome 
 
 Tlieir noxious vapour ; or, inured, not feel ; 
 
 Or, changed at length, and to the place conformed 
 
 In temper and in nature, will receive 
 
 Familiar the fierce heat, and void of pain ; 
 
 This horror will grow mild, this darkness 'light; 
 
 Besides what hope the never-ending flight 
 
 Of future days may bring, what chance, what chan 
 
 Wo.th waiting ; since our present lot appears 
 
 For happy though but ill, for ill not worst. 
 
 If we procure not to ourselves more woe." 
 
 Thus Belial, with words clothed in reason's garb, 
 Counselled ignoble case, and peaceful sluth. 
 
"fHE OCBAN. 
 
 246 
 
 SECTM n.-umiunms. 
 
 I? il 
 
 I.--THE OCEAN. 
 
 (btbon.) 
 
 Ther:i?4:::-:;';,*h?PathIe. woods; 
 There is sodetv wJ?. *^' ^"°^^^ '^'^'^ i 
 
 ijovenorsciirsi^^ 
 
 f'rom these our inL vt' ''"* ^'^^"rc more, 
 From aJI I ^^ ^ZT"' f ''^''^' ^ '^'^^ 
 To mingle with thl ?T ' ^''^ ^'^'^'■'^• 
 
 express, yet cannot all conceal 
 
 |^^^^nSSs^^«-Ocean^.lll 
 
 fcSt^S^-'^-S 
 Ti.e wrecks a e a , t hvl^^^^^^ "^« -^tery plain 
 
 A shadow of man's rl^^' ""' ^"^^^ ^'^'^aiH 
 ^Vhen, for a mTment S^'' 'T^ ^'' ''^^ > 
 
 For earth's destructToX'utsl'r^?^^ ^« ^-W' 
 Spurnmg him from thy boTom t f T''' 
 And send'st him, shiverina ,n .i f '^'''' 
 And howling to his'' nd ' Iv- ? ^-'^f"^ ^J'^'^^^' 
 His petty iione in «om„ " "^ ^^^^'-^ ^'«8 
 
 i'K 
 
 i 
 
24G 
 
 TUE PASSIONS. 
 
 The annanients which thunder-strike the wulla 
 Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake, 
 And mouarchs tremble in their capitals, 
 The oak leviathans, whose liuge ribs make 
 Their clay creator the vain title take 
 Of lord of thee, and arbiter of war— 
 These are thy toys ; and, as the anovry Hake, 
 They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar 
 Alike the Armada's pride, or spoils of Trafalgar. 
 
 Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee— 
 Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they 1 
 Thy waters washed them power while they were free, 
 And many a tyrant since ; their shores obey 
 The stranger, slave, or savage ; their decay 
 Mas dried up realms to deserts :— not so thou ;— 
 Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play. 
 Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow : 
 Such as Creation's dawn beheld, thou roUest now ! 
 
 Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form 
 Glasses itself in tempests ; in all time, 
 Calm or convulsed, in breeze, or gale, or storm, 
 Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime 
 Dark-heaving— boundless, endless, and sublime, 
 The image of Eternity,— the throne 
 Of the luvisible ; even from out thy slime 
 The monsters of the deep are made ; each zone 
 Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone! 
 
 11.— THE PASSIONS. 
 
 (COLLINS.) 
 
 William Collins, one of the most iU-fatcd of poets, was burn in Clilchtster la 
 1721, and died in 1769. His odes and ecloKues are highly prized. Thai on 
 T/ie roKtont is one of the finest in the language. 
 
 When Music, heavenly maid, was young. 
 While yet in early Greece she sung, 
 The Passions oft, to hear her shell 
 Thronged around her magic cell. 
 
THE PASSIONS. 
 
 Exulting trembling, raging, fainting 
 Possessed beyond the Muse's painti"ng. 
 
 By turns they felt the glowing miud 
 Disturbed delighted, raised, refined : 
 
 F TX^'t '"^^' ^^^^'^ ^" ^^«re fired, 
 filled with fury, rapt, inspired, ' 
 
 1 rom .he supporting myrtles round 
 They snatched her instruments of sound • 
 And as they oft had heard apart ' 
 
 bweet lessons of her forceful art 
 l|ach--for Madness ruled the hour^ 
 Would prove his own expressive power. 
 
 First, Fear, his hand, its skill to try 
 Ainid the chords bewildered laid- 
 
 And back recoiled, he knew not wh'v 
 Even at the sound himself had made. 
 
 Next Anger rushed, his eyes on fire, 
 In lightnrigs owned his secret stin-^s • 
 
 Id one rude clash he struck the lyro 
 And swept, with hurried hands, the strings. 
 
 VV^th woful measures, wan Bespair- 
 Low sullen sounds .'-his grief beguiled • 
 
 A solemn, strange, and mingled air" ' 
 Twas sad by fits-by starts 'twas wild. 
 
 Biit thou, Hope! with eyes so fair, 
 What was thy delighted measure ! . 
 btill It whispered promised pleasure 
 
 Am bade the lovely scenes at disWluil 
 
 Still would her touch the strain prolon' 
 And from the rocks, the woods, the val ^ ' 
 
 And, where her sweetest theme she chose 
 A soft responsive voice was heard at every close • 
 And Hope, enchanted, smiled, and waved Z^^L hair. 
 
 And longer had she sung-but. with a fiwn 
 Ivovenge impatient rose. ' 
 
 247 
 
 1^^ 
 
 m 
 
f48 
 
 THE PASSIONS. 
 
 lie threw hi. l,loo(i-8tainca aword in thnnder down • 
 
 And, with a withering look, 
 
 The war-denouucing trumpet took. 
 Ami blew a blast, so loud and dread, 
 "Wore ne'er i)roi»hetic Bounds so full of woe; 
 
 And, ever aiul anon, he beat 
 
 The doubling drum, with furious heat. 
 And though sometimes, oaeli dreary pause between. 
 
 Dejecti'd Pity, at his side, 
 
 Her soul-subduing voice ap: lied 
 Yet still lie kept his wild unaltered mien ; 
 ^^ Inle each strained ball of sight seemed bursting from 
 lus head. 
 
 Tl^v numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fixed ; 
 
 bad proof of thy distressful stale ! 
 Of differing themes the veering song was mixed • 
 
 And, now, it courted Love ; now, raving, called on Hate. 
 
 With eyes upraised, as one inspired, 
 Pale Melancholy sat retired ; 
 And from her wild sequestered scat, 
 In notes by distance made more sweet 
 Poured through the mellow horn her peasivc soul • 
 
 And, daslimg soft, from rocks around, 
 
 Bubbling runnels joined tlie sound 
 Tlirough glades and glooms the mingled measure stole: 
 
 Ur er some hauuted streams, with foud delay- 
 Round a holy calm diffusing, 
 Love of peace and lonely musing— 
 
 In hollow murmurs died away. 
 
 But, oh, how altered was its sprightlier tone » 
 ^^hen Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue, 
 
 J:l.er bow across her shoulders flung. 
 Her buskins gemmed -vvith morning dew. 
 Blew an inspiring air, that dale a°ud thicket run^- 
 The hunter s call, to Faun and Dryad known 
 The oak-ciwned sisters, and their chaste-eyed queen, 
 batyrs, and silvan boys, were seen, 
 Peeping from forth their alleys green ; 
 
dl»v^•n ; 
 
 ;weon, 
 
 iing from 
 
 on Hate. 
 
 THE VOICJ! AND PKjf. 
 
 Au.l o, ^T"" ?'"'''"''« '■ejoiccd to hoar- 
 
 Ami oport leaped up. and seized his bcechcn spear. 
 
 Last came Joy's ecstatic trial. 
 iBut soon he saw the brisk awakening vJnl 
 
 Am dThlf !";''' ' '^''^^' ^^^ o^tive maid 
 Amid the festal-sounding shades 
 
 S49 
 
 
 )ul: 
 
 e stole ; 
 
 ly— 
 
 e, 
 
 rung — 
 
 queen, 
 
 ni.-THE VOICE AKB PEN. 
 (». F. m'oartht.) 
 
 Oh ! the orator's Voice is a mighty power 
 As It echoes from shore to shorei 
 
 And the fearless Pen ha. more sway o'er men 
 irf f ? ' murderous cannon's roar 
 ^^'J^*^"^«t the chain far o'er the main 
 
 CahTfoTtl^T-^"' ^^« ^-^ "^"^"^er- 
 ^nrran I for the Voice and Pen ! 
 
 Hurrah! for the Voice and Pen!" 
 
 The tyrant knaves who deny our rights 
 And the cowards who blanch will fear. 
 
 *f"'^. 
 
 
TUB VOICE AND PEN. 
 
 Exclaim with kIcc, " No arms have ye— 
 Nor cannon, nor sword, uor spear ! 
 
 Your hills are ours ; with our forts and towers 
 Wo are masters of mount and glen." 
 
 Tyrants, beware! for the arms we bear 
 Are the Voice and the fearless Pen ! 
 
 Though your horsemen f.tund with their bridles 
 in hand. 
 
 And your sentinels walk around— 
 Though your matches flare in the midnight air, 
 
 And your brazen trumpets sound ; 
 Oh ! the orator's tongue shall be heard among 
 
 These listening warrior men ; 
 And they'll quickly say, "Why should we slay 
 
 Our friends of the Voice and Pen?" 
 
 When the Lord created the earth and sea, 
 
 The stars and the glorious sun. 
 The Godhead spoke, and the universe woke— 
 
 And the mighty work was done ! 
 Let a word be flung from the orator's tongue. 
 
 Or a drop from the fearless Pen, 
 And the chains accursed asunder burst. 
 
 That fettered the minds of men 1 
 
 Oh ! these are the swords with which we fight. 
 
 The arms in which we trust ; 
 Which no tyrant hand will dare to braud. 
 
 Which time cannot dim or rust ! 
 When these we bore, we triumplicd before,— 
 
 With these we'll triumph again ; 
 And the world will say, " No power can stay 
 
 The Voice and the fearless Pen !" 
 
 Hurrah ! 
 
 Iluirah ! for the Voice and Pen ! 
 
ELEOY WKITTEN I.V A COUNTRY ClI URCU- YAKD. 251 
 
 . nr.-ELZGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTai CflUaCH-YAED. 
 
 ("RAT.) 
 
 The curfew toils the knell of parting day; 
 
 ll.e ploughiuan hon,eward plods his weary ^ay • 
 And leavea the world to darkness, and to ml 
 
 And all the air a solemn stillness holds : 
 Save wliere the beetle wheels his dioning flight 
 And drowsy tinklings luU the distant foldt : 
 
 Save that, from yonder ivy-mantled tower 
 lie moping owl does to the moon complain 
 
 UUuch as, wandering near her se.uot bower, 
 Molest her ancient solitary reign. 
 
 Boiieath these rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade. 
 
 Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap 
 hack m his narrow cell for ever laid, ^ ^' 
 
 llie rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.- 
 
 Tiie breezy call of incense-breathing morn 
 Ihe swallow twittering from the straw-built shed 
 
 The cock's shnll clarion, or the echoing horn 
 No more shall rouse them from their lowly' bed ! 
 
 For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn. 
 
 Or busy housewife ply her evening care : 
 Ko children run to lisp their sire's return. 
 
 Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share! 
 
 OfUlid the harvest to their sickle yield: 
 Iheir furrow oft the stiil)hMrn „u^.^ i.' i„. ,. , 
 
 How jocund did they drive th;^i;am ^dll^'" 
 How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy'stroke ! 
 
 r i 
 
2r,2 KLKGY WKITTKN IN A COUNTRY CIlUKCH-VARn. 
 
 Li't not ambition mock tlunr usofiil toil, 
 Their homely joys, and destiny ohscu'io ; 
 
 Nor grandeur luivr with a disdainful sniilo, 
 The short and aimjjle anuuls of the i)oor. - 
 
 The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, 
 And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er yavc, 
 
 Await, alike, the inevitable hour; 
 The paths of glory lead but to the grave 1 
 
 Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, 
 If memory o'er their tombs no trophies rai'dc, 
 
 Where, through the long-drawn aisle and fretted 
 vault, 
 The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. 
 
 Can storied urn, or animated bust. 
 Back to its mansion call the fleeting brcatli? 
 
 Can honour's voice provoke the silent dust? 
 Or flattery soothe the dull cold car of death ? 
 
 Perhaps, in this neglected spot, is laid 
 Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire ; 
 
 Hands that the rod of empire might have swayed, 
 Or waked to ecstasy the living lyre : 
 
 But knowledge to their eyes her ample page, 
 Eich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unioU ; 
 
 Chill penury repressed their noble rage, 
 And froze the genial current of the soul! 
 
 Full many a gem of purest ray serene, 
 ^ The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bcnr; 
 Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, ' 
 And waste its sweetness on the desert air! 
 
 Some village Hampden, that, with dauntless breast, 
 The little tyrant of his fields withstood ; 
 
 Some mute inglorious Milton here may rest- 
 Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood. 
 
TWr lot f,,rl,„,|o, „„,„;„,, 
 
 VV.tl,,„„,sok,„.lW„ul,cmuUllamc. 
 
 AW «,ec„„,so,„o.ton.lv: /,,"'"'• 
 n'«yko,,tth„„oi«lc,.ta.„r„ftl,°ir,vayl 
 
 Their na™Mheh.y.ars, spoiled 
 Tl,e pluce'of fame and ele/,T supply • 
 
 To teach the rustic moralist to die. 
 For who to dumb Forgetfulness a proy 
 
 Lett the warm precincts of the cheerful day 
 ^or cast one longingjingering look bSd/ 
 
 On 8ome fond breast the parting soul relies 
 bome PU.U8 drops the cIosin/.v« i'!!!'.'' . 
 
 E on from tJie tomb the voice of Nature'crles - 
 i- en ,n our ashes live their wonted Ls' 
 
 i 
 
 *l ii 
 
I 
 
 
 
 
 If 
 
 2.'54 napoleon's last request. 
 
 For thee, who mindful of the unlionoured dead, 
 Dost in these lines their artless tale relate, 
 
 If, 'chance, by lonely Contemplation led. 
 Some kindi-ed spirit shall inquire thy fate ; 
 
 Haply some hoary-headed swain may say— 
 "Oft have we seen him, at the peep of dawn, 
 
 Brushing, with hasty steps, the dews away, 
 To meet the sun upon the upland lawn, 
 
 Tliere, at the foot of yonder nodding beech, 
 That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, 
 
 His listless length at noontide would he stretch. 
 And pore upon the brook that bubbles by. 
 
 Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, 
 Muttering his wayward fancies, he would rove ; 
 
 Now drooping, woful, wan, like one forlorn, 
 Or crazed with care, or crossed in hopeless love! 
 
 One morn I missed him on the accustomed hill. 
 Along the lieath, and near his favourite tree : 
 
 Another came ; nor yet beside the rill, 
 Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he : 
 
 The next— with dirges due, in sad array. 
 Slow through the church-way path we saw him 
 borne : 
 
 Approach, and read— for thou canst read— the lay. 
 Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn." 
 
 v.— NAPOLEOi; S LAST EEftUEST. 
 
 (anon.) 
 
 Ah ! b"ry me deep in the boundless sea, 
 Let my heart have a limitless grave, 
 For my spirit in life was as fierce and free 
 As th^: ;;ourse of the tempest wave ; 
 
HYMN IN THE VALE OP CIIAArOUNr. 
 
 And as far from the reach of mortal control 
 Were tho depths of my fathomless mind 
 And the ebbs and the flows of my sincde soul 
 Were tides to the rest of mankind. 
 
 As b Z ?]",Tt,^'" '^'^^ ^°°^^^« *he world, 
 
 Asm life did the voice of my feme, 
 
 And each mutinous billow that skyward curls 
 
 Sha 1 to fancy re-echo my name :- 
 
 That name shall be storied in record sublime 
 
 In the uttermost corners of earth • 
 
 And renowned till the wreck of expiring time 
 
 Be the glorified land of my birth ' 
 
 Yes. buiy my heart in the boundless sea - 
 
 I would burst from a narrower tomb ; 
 
 Should less than an ocean my sepulch e be 
 
 Or If wrapped in less horrible gloom ' 
 
 255 
 
 « 
 
 VI-HYin m THE VALE OP CHAJIOrai. 
 
 (OOLERIDGB.) 
 
 Hast thou a charm to stay the morning star 
 On A' 1'?i ''''''' ^ ^' ^°"»" h« seems to fue 
 i he Arve and Arveiron at thy base 
 Rave ceaselessly ; but thou, most awful Form » 
 R-sest from forth the silent sea of piue" 
 How^iently, Around thee and above' 
 Deep IS the air, and dark, substantial, black 
 An^bon mass : mcthinks thou piercest i ' 
 As w th a wedge ! But when I look again 
 
 iVv 1 nJ^f T" f"^ ^°'"^' '^'y crystal^lrine 
 ihy habitation from eternity' ' 
 
 Slftll'sfilf "* "^r'- ' ''''^' "'-» thee, 
 f,V' ^'^0"' still present to the bodily sense 
 
 Ddst vanish from my thought : entianrd in prr.r 
 1 worslupped the Invisible alone. " ^ '^' 
 
 yet, like some sweet beguiling melody, 
 
 I ' 'pi' 
 
 t 
 
 4 
 
256 
 
 HYMN IN THE VALE OF CHAMOUNI. 
 
 If 
 
 So sweet, we know not we are listening to it, 
 
 Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with my thought, 
 
 Yea, with my life and life's own secret joy. 
 
 Till the dilating Soul, enrapt, transfused, 
 
 Into the mighty vision passing— there. 
 
 As in her natural form, swelled vast to Heaven ! 
 
 Awake, my soul ! not only passive praise 
 Thou owest ! not alone these swelling tears, 
 Mute thanks and secret ecstasy ! Awake, ' 
 Voice of sweet song ! Awake, my lieart, awake ! 
 Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my Hymn. 
 
 Thou first and chief, sole sovran of the Vale ! 
 Oh, struggling with the darkness all the uiglit, 
 And visited all night by troops of stars, 
 Or when they cViwh the sky, or when they sink : 
 Companion of the morning star at dawn, 
 Thyself Earth's rosy star, and of the dawn 
 Co-herald : wake, oh wake, and utter praise ! 
 Who sank thy sunless i^illars deep in earth? 
 Who filled thy countenance witli rosy liglit? 
 Who made thee parent of perpetual streams? 
 
 And you, ye five wild torrents, fiercely glad ! 
 Who called you forth from niglit and utter death, 
 From dark and icy caverns called you forth, 
 Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks, 
 For ever shattered and the same for ever? 
 Who gave you your invulnerable life. 
 Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy, 
 Unceasing thunder and eternal foam? 
 And who commanded (and the silence came), 
 "Here let the billows stifteu and have rest?"' 
 
 Ye ice-falls! ye that from tlie mountain's brow 
 Adowu enoi -ous ravines slope amain— 
 Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice. 
 And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge ! 
 Motionless torrents! silent cataracts! 
 Who made you glorious as the gates of Heaven 
 Beneath the keen full moon ? Who bade the sun 
 Clothe you with rainbows ? Who with living flowers 
 Uf loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet ?— 
 
TO THE COMET OF J811. 
 
 Ye iiine groves with vn,,. fl ' i'" sladsome voice! 
 And they too have »vZ"" "".'^ ™i-«to sounds! 
 
 intot,d,;S;a!tt?rtrbS^^^^^^ 
 
 Sat ,1 1 rf • '°' "T'"*™» Mountain ! thou 
 Thou dreaf aufhl^^ "f IXS S"" 
 
 Ardtsrsi'i&*-«^.^^^^^^^ 
 
 257 
 
 (M) 
 
 VII.-TO THE COMET OP 1811. 
 
 (noQo.) 
 
 liiatflashestm celestial gale 
 Broad pennon of the King if Heaven! 
 
 Art thou the flag of woe and death 
 
 i-rom angel's ensign-staff unfurled? 
 17 
 
tM^' 
 
 258 TO THE COMET OF 1811. 
 
 Art thou the standard of his wrath, 
 Waved o'er a sordid, sinful world? 
 
 No ; from that pure, pellucid beam, 
 That erst o'er plains of Bethlehem slione,' 
 
 No latent evil we can deem, 
 Bright herald of the eternal throne! 
 
 Whate'er portends thy front of fire, 
 Thy streaming locks so lovely pale- 
 
 Or peace to man, or judgments dire, 
 Stranger of heaven, I bid thee hail ! 
 
 Where hast thou roamed these thousand years ? 
 
 Why sought these polar paths again. 
 From wilderness of glowing spheres, 
 
 To fling thy vesture o'er the wain? 
 
 And when thou scal'st the Milky Way, 
 And vanishest from human view, 
 
 A thousand worlds shall hail thy ray 
 Through wilds of yon empyreal blue! 
 
 Oh, on thy rapid prow to glide ! 
 
 To sail the boundless skies with thee. 
 And plough the twinkling stars aside, 
 
 Like yoam-bells on a tranquil sea! 
 
 To brush the embers from the sun, 
 
 The icicles from off the pole ; 
 Then far to other systems nm. 
 
 Where other moons and planets roll ! 
 
 Stranger of heaven ! oh, let thine eye 
 Smile on a rapt enthusiast's dream ; 
 
 Eccentric as thy cource on high. 
 And airy as thine ambient beam ! 
 
 And long, long may thy silver ray 
 Our northern arch at eve adorn j 
 
 Then, wheeling to the east away. 
 Light the grey portals of the morn ! 
 
 ' This was by soma considered t!ie samt comet wlilcli appoare " at -' "i 
 of Christ. 
 
THEME FOR A POET. 
 
 9ii9 
 
 Vni-THEME FOR a POET. 
 
 (P- J. BAILEr ) 
 ™lpJa.e, Bailey, author Of .'..«, ;^, ,,,,,, ^ 
 
 ThP f„-f) f'^'^^^^P' thy race, thy love 
 
 The fair "wi h iuT *; ^''fr'- "^ ''«™. 
 Shall ran to rri " "'"''^ '"'"> "" lo™, 
 
 s'iii hearty ";'<,« Lrw'h"".*'' "^ ■»- 
 
 Hath blosLedlrjaX fe"''^ , 
 
 flower, "^^araa, like the purple bell- 
 
 Look at ^pT. V ^'''^' ^""^ tJiou art. 
 
 t^'^r:^^zszLt:^^'T'-i 
 
 That he ho' 
 
 licVes, 
 
 letters, It trusts not. But 
 
 part, and doubt, and 
 
 he Utters. What the 
 
 When all, 
 
 --. ^ui, tue time I 
 along with those who seek 
 
 the time may 
 
 world 
 come 
 to raise 
 
 narrow. 
 
THE SONG OF STEAM. 
 
 Men's miuds, and )iave enough of pain, without 
 Suffering fr^Mu envy, may be God-inspired 
 To utter truth, and feel like love lor men, 
 Poets are henceforth the world's tciichers. Still 
 The world is all in Bccta, whicu ruakes one loathe it 
 
 1X.--THE SONG OF STEAM. 
 (anon.) 
 
 F;..;???£F'? me dowii witli your iron bands, 
 
 Bi.' sui.*e of your curb and rein, 
 For X .o',>m the. power of your puny hands, 
 
 Ah ihe tempest scorns a chain. 
 Eovv I laughed, as I lay concealed from siglfc 
 
 For many a countless hour, 
 At the childish boast of human might, 
 
 And the pride of human power ! 
 
 "When I saw an army upon the laud, 
 
 A navy upon the seas. 
 Creeping along, a snail-like band, 
 
 Or waiting the wayward breeze ; 
 When I marked the peasant faintly reel 
 
 With the toil which he daily bore. 
 As he feebly turned at the tardy wheel. 
 
 Or tugged at the weary oar ; 
 
 When I measured the panting courser's speed. 
 
 The flight of the carrier dove, 
 As they bore the law a king decreed, 
 
 Or the lines of impatient love ; 
 I could not but think how the world would feel, 
 
 As these were outstripped afar, 
 When I should be bound to the rushing kccf, 
 
 Or chained to the flying car. 
 
 Ila 1 ha i '■;• they found me at last ; 
 They in ^ ■ 1 me forth at Icngtli, 
 
THE SONG OF STEAM. 
 
 And I lushed to my throne with thun.lor blast 
 And lauyhed in my iron strengtiu ' 
 
 Vh then ye saw a wondrous change 
 On the earth and ocean wide 
 
 Where now my fiery armies range, 
 Nor wait for wind or tide. 
 
 Ilurrahlliurrah! the waters o'er 
 
 1 he mountains steep decline- 
 lime-space-have yielded to my power- 
 
 The world! the world is mine I 
 ihe rivers the sun hath earliest blest. 
 
 Or those where his beams decline, 
 Ihe giant streams of the queenly west 
 Or the orient floods divine. 
 
 The ocean pales where'er I sweep. 
 
 To hear my strength rejoice; 
 And the monsters of the briny deep 
 
 Cower trembling, at my voice. 
 I carry the wealth and the lord of earth 
 The thoughts of the god-like mind ; ' 
 t\'' r .h^' ^fter my flying forth. 
 -Ihe lightning is left behind. 
 
 \tt'.?^f ''™' ^«P*h« «f the fathomless mine 
 ,,,f y tireless arm doth play, 
 
 Or the dawn of the glorious day. 
 
 I bring earth's glittering jewels up 
 
 ±rom the hfdden cave below 
 Aiid I make the fountain's granite cup 
 
 with a crystal gush o'erflow. 
 
 I blow the bellows, I forge the steel, 
 
 in all the shops of trade- 
 I hammer the ore, and turn the wheel, 
 
 Where my arms nf st'-p"o-+b — « -^ - 
 I manage the furnace, the mill, the mint - 
 
 I carry, I spin, I weave; 
 
 261 
 
 ' ^ i 
 
 J., .■>!; 
 
 M> 
 

 jugurtha's prison thoughts. 
 
 And all my doings I put into print 
 On every Saturday eve. 
 
 I've no muscle to weary, no breast to decay, 
 
 No bones to be "laid on the shelf," 
 And soon I intend you "may go and {)lay," 
 
 While I manage the world by myself. 
 But harness me down with your iron bands, 
 
 Be sure of your curb and rein. 
 For I scorn the strength of your puny hands 
 
 As the tempest scorns a chain. 
 
 X.— JUGUETHA'S PRISON THOUGHTS. 
 
 ( WOLFE.) 
 
 JuBurtho became king of Numiaia, in Africa, by the murder of his two cousini 
 who were nearer to the throne than he. The Romans, In consequence, de- 
 claied war against him. Having been overpowered by the Consul Marlus he 
 was taken prisoner In 106 B.a, and two years afterwards died of starvation in 
 a dungeon In Rome. 
 
 The Rev. Charles Wolfe was born In Dublin, In 1791, and after a brief but pro- 
 mising career as a poet and as a clergyman, died of consumption in 182:) 
 HIS poems, essays, and sermons, have been collected under the title of " Wolfe's 
 Remains." 
 
 Well— is the rack prepared— the pincers heated? 
 
 Where is the scourge ? How !--not employed in Rome? 
 
 We have them in Numidia. NotinKome? 
 
 I'm sorry for it ; I could eiyoy it now ; 
 
 I might have felt them yesterday; but now,— 
 
 Now I have seen my funeral procession : 
 
 The chariot-wheels of Marius have rolled o'er me : 
 
 His horses' hoofs have trampled me in triumph,— 
 
 I have attained that terrible consummation. 
 
 My soul could stand aloof, and from on high 
 
 Look down upon the ruins of my body. 
 
 Smiling in apathy : I feel no longer ; 
 
 I challenge KuMe to give another pang.— 
 
 Gods ! how he smiled, when he beheld me pause 
 
 Before his car, and scowl upon the mob ; 
 
 The curse of Eome was burning on my lips, 
 
 And J had gnawed my chain, and hurled it at them, 
 
JUGUiiTUA'8 PJIISON THOUGHTS 
 
 Peati r rl''""' ^"^ '^'^^ insulting winiow 
 
 V.\ A 7, .*'''''* "'""^^^'^ of disgrace. 
 Enjoyed the freedom but of yonder slave 
 I would have made my monLont in Rome 
 
 Jo thmk disgrace entombs the hero's soul - 
 For ever damps his fires and dims h s g ories • 
 That no bnght laurel can adorn the brow ' 
 That once has bo^ved; no victory's trumpet-sound 
 
 vfltTv P"''"^' *^^"°"gh di^gr^ce to glory- 
 
 Thrn i f "^''^' *^°' ^«^' f^<5m this moment 
 To 2t "".^^^^^^^ I ««e '-^ut-death ; ' 
 
 To me there's nothing future now, but death • 
 Then come and let nae gloom upoi the past -^ 
 
 * * * Vc 
 
 ni sleep no more, until I sleep fofever • 
 
 I U sleep no more ! TR think until I die : 
 
 My eyes shall pore upon my miseries, 
 
 Until my miseries shall be no more -1 
 
 Yet wherefore did he scream ? Why, I have heard 
 mshvmff Bcr«am.--it was not half so friSul 
 Whence con.- , le diffprpn"" ' wi^--, ^i "^oowui. 
 Whv Tri-. ^ — ~"i-., "iiciitiiuinanwaslivin" 
 With It- A ■' "P°^ ^'' '^""'^ «f torments 
 With placid vengeance, and each anguished cry 
 
 i 
 
 Si 
 
201 
 
 TH» OUTIT^K MYTnOLOOY, 
 
 Gave me nforn su; IsN, tion. Now he's dc^ml, 
 And his iipa novo not ; yet his voico's iniayo 
 Flasho 1 -uch a dreadful darkness o'er my bouI, 
 I wou id not mount Numidia's throne again, 
 Did every night bring such a scream aa that. 
 Oh, yes, 'twaa I that caused thnt fiv^'-^n one 
 And tliereforo did its ech-. , .u »o i.iglitful! 
 If 'twere to do again, I would not kill thee; 
 Wilt thou not be contented ?— But tliou say'st, 
 " My father was to thee a father also ; 
 He watched thy infant years, ho gave thee all 
 That youth could ask, and scarcely manhood came 
 Ihan came a kingdom also: yet didst thou—" 
 Oh, I am faint .'—they have not brought me food- 
 How did I not perceive it until now? 
 Hold,— my Numidian cruse is still about mc— 
 No di-.)p within-Oh, faithful friend! companion 
 Of many a weary march and ' nirsty day 
 'Tis the first time that ti.ou hast failed my lips.— 
 Gods! I'm :u tears!— I did not think of weeping. 
 Oh, Fnrius, wilt thou ever feel like this?— 
 Ha! I behold the ruins of a city; 
 And on a craggy fragment sits a form 
 That seems in ruins also : how unmoved. 
 How stern he looks ! Ail azement ! it isMarius ! 
 Ha! Marius, think'st thou now upon Jisfiurtha? 
 He turns ! he's caught my eye I see no more ! 
 
 XI.— THE GREEK MYTHOLOGY. 
 
 'WORDSVrORTH.) 
 
 The following extract frcm the "Excursion" ..ei.,. lis with remarkable "philo- 
 sophical futh and poetlca. beauty "the n-,ode in whi-!- ubstrlct ideas^ m 
 to be regarded by the imaginative Greek a, tanriV.. form^ a'd he andeS 
 ofthe mind turned Into the shapes of gods am' . dess.- " '"e ia"cie» 
 
 William Wordsworth was a native of Cock- moutl,, i a Cumberland. He was an 
 Mmate friend of Coleridge and So,- and o the dea.h of th Ian" in 
 1843 he succeeded to the Laureatesh.r irr 0; died 1850. 
 
 The lively Grecian, in lul . , alls, 
 Rivers and fertile plains, and sounding shores. 
 Under a cope of sky more variable, 
 Could find commodious place for every god, 
 
TUB GKEKK MYTHOLOGY. 
 
 Promptly received, ns pro,Ii>ally b,oughfc, 
 
 Fiom the surrouudinK countries, at tlio cl uico 
 
 Of u 1 advouturers With unrivalled skill, 
 
 As nicest observation furnished hints 
 
 For studious fancy, hi.s quick hand bestowed 
 
 On fluent operations u fixed shape • 
 
 Metal or stone, idolatrously served 
 
 And yot-triumphant o'er this pompous show 
 
 Of art, this palpable array of sense. 
 
 On every side encountered; in despite 
 
 Of the gross fictions chanted -n the streets 
 
 By wandering? rhapsodists; a,ul in contempt 
 
 Of doubt and bold denial hourly urcrod 
 
 Bcaatiful region, o'er thy towns and farms. 
 Statues^and temples, and memorial tombs. 
 
 Onth^l^^ '"'"'' ?' lonely herdsman, stretched 
 On he soft grass through half a summ,^r's day 
 ^ ith music lulled his indolent repose • ^' 
 And m some fit of weariness, if he 
 When his own breath was silent, chanced to hear 
 ^distant strain, far sweeter thai the sounds 
 
 A Ik ^, ^ *^^^^'°S chariot ( f the sun 
 indnZV:T' ^^^/^"'^hed a golden lute 
 And hlled the illumined groves with ravishment 
 The n,ghtly hunter. lifting a bright eye 
 
 Cflled'^'nth Y 'r '°* ^""' ^^*h grateful heart 
 That H^ 1 r '^^ wanderer, who bestowed 
 
 And hence a beaming goddess with her nymphs 
 Across tue lawn and through the darksorgro;o 
 (I^ot unaccompanied with tuneful notes 
 By echo multiplied from rock or cave) 
 
 gI?.V'' V^T "^ '^''''' ' ^« ^00^ and stars 
 G^nce rapidly along the clouded heaven 
 
 men winds are blowing strong. The tmvnlW .ui,,^ 
 ne JNaud. Sunbeams, upon distant hills 
 
 2(io 
 
S60 
 
 THE CITY PIGEON. 
 
 eliding apace, with rthadowa in their train 
 Might, with small help from fancy, be trunsformo.! 
 into fleet Or- iJa sporting visibly. 
 The Zephyrs fanning, as they passed, their winus 
 Lacked not, for love, fair objects whom they wooed 
 With gentle wliisper. Withered boughs grotesque, 
 Stripped of their leaves and twigs by houry age, 
 from depth of shaggy covert peeping forth 
 In the low vale or on steep mountain side ; 
 And sometimes intermixed with stirring horns 
 Of the live deer, or goat's depending beard,— 
 Tiiese were the lurking Satyrs, a wild brood 
 Ol gamesome deities; or Pan himself, 
 The simple shepherd's awe-inspiring god. 
 
 XII.—THE CITY PIGEON. 
 
 (WILLIS.) 
 
 Stoop to my window, thou beautiful dovel 
 Thy daily visits have touched my love. 
 I watch thy coming, and list tlie note " 
 That stirs so low in thy mellow throat; 
 
 Andmyjoy ishigh 
 To catch the glance of thy gentle eye. 
 
 Why dosi thou sit on the heated eaves, 
 
 And forsake the wood with its freshened leaves? 
 
 u liy dost thoa haunt the sultry street 
 
 When the paths of the forest are cool and sweet? 
 
 How canst thou bear 
 This noise of people, this sultry air? 
 
 Thou alone of the feathered race 
 Dost look unscared on the human face; 
 Thou alone, with a wing to flee, 
 Dost love with man in his haunts to be ; 
 
 And the "gentle dove" 
 Has become a name for trust and love. 
 
 A holy gift is thine, sweet bird! 
 
 Tliou'rt named with childhood's earliest word! 
 
THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS. 
 
 Thou'rt linked with all that is fresh an.l wii.l 
 In the pnsotied thoughts of the city child • 
 
 And thy glossy wings ' 
 
 Are Its brightest image of moving things. 
 It is no light chance. Thou art set apart 
 Wisely hy Him who has tamed thy heart, 
 lo stir the love for the bright and fair, 
 I Jiat else were sealed in this crowded air • 
 
 I sometimes dream ' 
 
 Angelic rays from thy pinions stream. 
 
 Come, then, ever, when daylight leaves 
 ihe page I read, to my humble eaves 
 And wash thy breast in the hollow spout 
 And murmur thy low sweet music out ! ' 
 
 I hear and see 
 Lessons of heaven, sweet bird, in thee! 
 
 S67 
 
 Xni.-THE OID CIOCK ON THE STAIRS. 
 
 (LONQFELLOW.) 
 
 Somewhat back from the village street 
 btands the old-fashioned country-seat. 
 Across its antique portico 
 TaU poplar trees their shadows throw • 
 And from its station in the hall, * 
 An ancient time-piece says to aU— 
 " For ever — never ! 
 Never— for ever!" 
 Half way up the stairs it stands. 
 And points and beckons with its hands 
 t rom its case of massive oak, 
 Like a monk, who, under his' cloak, 
 Crosses himself, and sigh'i, alas i 
 With sorrowful voice to aU who paas-^ 
 " For ever — never 1 
 Never— for ever!" 
 
 By day its voice is low and light*, 
 I3ut, in the silent dead of night. 
 
■■■1i(«5;; 
 
 268 
 
 li-il 
 
 THE OLD CLOCK ON TI.CK STAIRS. 
 
 Distinct as a passing footstep's fall, 
 It echoes along the vacant hall, 
 Along the ceiling, along the Hoor, 
 And seems to say at each chamber-door— 
 " For ever— never ! 
 Never— forever!" 
 
 Through days of sorrow and of mirth 
 Through days of death and days of birtli 
 Through every swift vicissitude 
 Of changeful time, unchanged it has stood: 
 And as if, like God, it all things saw, 
 It calmly repeats those words of awe— 
 " For ever — never ! 
 Never— for ever!" 
 
 In that mansion used to bo 
 Free-hearted Hospitality ; 
 His great fires up the chimney roared • 
 The stranger feasted at his board ; 
 But, like the skeleton at the feast. 
 That warning time-piece never ceased— 
 " For ever— never ! 
 Never- for ever!" 
 
 There groups of merry children played 
 There youths and maidens dreaming strayed • 
 O precious hours ! golden prime, 
 And affluence of love and time ! 
 Even as a miser counts his gold, 
 Those hours the ancient time-piece told— 
 " For ever — never ! 
 Never— for ever!" 
 
 From that chamber, clothed in white, 
 The bride came forth on her wedding ni^ht • 
 Ihere, in that silent room below, ' 
 
 The dead lay in his shroud of snow • 
 And in the hush that followed the prayer 
 Was heard the old clock on the stair— ' 
 " For ever — never I 
 Never— forever!" 
 
 1 
 
 I 
 
 S 
 
TDE SOXO OP THE COSSACK TO HIS IIOESE. 
 
 All are scattoroa now and fled- 
 
 feome are married, some are dead; 
 And when I ask, with throbs of pain, 
 
 Ahl when shall they all meet again?" 
 As m the days long since gone by 
 The ancient time-piece makes reply^ 
 For ever— never! 
 Never— forever!" 
 
 Never here, for ever there, 
 Where all parting, pain, and care. 
 And death, and time shall disappear • 
 
 For ever ^/.^., but never /..../ ' 
 
 Ihe horologe of Eternity 
 Saith tliis incessantly— 
 " For ever— never ! 
 Never— for ever!" 
 
 XIV.-THE SONG OP THE COSSACK TO HIS HOESE 
 
 Th.» •• Song of the CossacL " was translatea by " Father 7 . 
 
 Mahony) from the F.:LrofBera„gef''°"' ''''''■ ^'■''"^'' 
 
 CoM^^^ arou^ thee up, my gallant horse, and bear thy 
 The comrade thou, and the friend. I trow, of the dweller on 
 
 ''^'^ theetS '^^^ ''''^' '''^ ^^^"»--' 't^« the hour to 
 And witMhy hoofs an echo wake to the trumpets of the 
 
 Then fiercely neigh, my charger grey'-thv .l,.«f • 
 
 and ample! ^' ^ ^"^^^ is proud 
 
 Thy hoofs shall prance o'er the i'ield^ t.? v 
 
 I'lido of her heroes trample! «^ ^^^n««. and the 
 
 grown old-herbuhvarks are laid 
 
 2C9 
 
 Europe is weak -she hatli 
 low ; 
 
 She is loutl, t„ hear the Ma.t „f w.ar-sl,e sl.ri„ 
 
 s k 
 
 '9 
 
 ikcth from a foci 
 
 
270 THE SONG OF THE COSSACK TO UTS HORSK. 
 
 Come, in our turn, let us sojourn in her goodlylmunts of joy^ 
 lu the pillared porch to wave the torch, and Iier palaoos 
 destroy! 
 
 Proud as when first thou slak'dst thy thirst in the flow of 
 conquered Seine, 
 
 Aye, Shalt thou lave, within that wave, thy blood-red flanks 
 again. 
 
 Tlien fiercely neigh, my gallant grey !-thy chest is stron<. 
 and ample ! " 
 
 Thy hoofs shall prance o'er the fields of France, and the 
 pride of her heroes trample ! 
 
 Kings are beleaguered on tJieir thrones by their own vassal 
 
 crew; Kinaai 
 
 And m^their Jen quake noMemen, and pricsta are bearded 
 
 ^"'tXZtoLT- """' '"^^ «- -'• f«'. '» «ar a 
 '^"■^ tTeCss™ '"'"'"' " •'"'^' "'"■ ""'l ""^ ™i'' »<! 
 
 '■"LS "" ^ '" "^ ^'^^- »"<>« ™« 
 
 ^"™an7a5er"' "'' «^'-' ^^^ '" "'^ o^ea. i, broad 
 
 "'^ ';°?? f»"f»"» "•'»■ tte fields of Franee, and t!,e 
 pride of her heroes trample ! 
 
 ^"" t piTcTp"^ *''''''^' *^' ^^«' ^''^ ^^« battle^axe 
 
 From the CossacW camp let the horseman's tramp the 
 coming crash announce; ^ 
 
 "^'^ "ie ; ''''' ''' ^^'^^ ^^"^P '''^ ^« *^« ^^^rion field 
 
SE. 
 
 intsofjoy— 
 lier palaces 
 
 the flow of 
 
 I-red flanks 
 
 t is strong 
 
 e, and the 
 
 own vassal 
 ■e bearded 
 keep their 
 to wear a 
 rosier and 
 
 loft THAT 
 
 t is broad 
 , and tlie 
 
 THE SON-a OF TBB COSSACK TO nis „on,p. 271 
 
 And proudly neigh, my charger grey l-o], i .!,„ ,1,™, ■ , , 
 and ample! '' °" "")' ™rat is broaj 
 
 Thy hoofs shall prance o'er the flel,l« nf v 
 
 pride of her heroes trample? ^'™'' "'"' "'« 
 
 Wha* Wts „U Europe's boasted fame, o„ whieh she builds 
 
 ""* JstTuioT "" "™ ™°'" "^ °" '-''- "f t™P- 
 ^""S::,?"' "™*^'' '» "'» "=-" of our barbarous 
 Can « not ™id our fathers' shield, the same war-hatehet 
 
 "" rrrstina - *-^ '''^'^ *-^>'. '- '^e 
 
 And thy hoofs shall pranee o'er t(,« B.i,i. r i, 
 
 the pride of her heroes trample f ""^ ^'™''' "'"' 
 
 igure was 
 
 his look 
 
 )attle-axe 
 
 e scourge 
 
 amp the 
 :ion field 
 
 mi 
 
272 
 
 BRUTUS AND CASSIUa 
 
 SECTIOiN V.-THE DRAMA. 
 
 1.-BRUTUS AND CASSIUS. 
 
 (SDAKSPEKB.) 
 
 For taking bribes here of the Sardians ; 
 
 Wherein my letters, praying on his side. 
 
 iiecause I knew the man, were slighted of. 
 
 J^m. You wronged yourself, to write in such a case 
 
 Gas. In such a time as this, it is not meet 
 
 That every nice offence should bear his comment. 
 
 ./ini. Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself 
 
 Are much condemned to have an itching palm : 
 
 lo sell and mart your offices for gold 
 To undeservers. 
 
 Cos. I an itching palm? 
 You know that you are Brutus that speak this, 
 )r m? ^''^^' *^"' 'P^^^^ were else your last 
 AnV t !-^ "'''"' of Cassius honours this corruption 
 Aiid chas isement doth therefore hide his head 
 Cos. Uhastisement ! 
 
 /.Vm Remember March, the Ides of March remember I 
 Bid not great Julius bleed for Justice' sake? '''^'''^'^ 
 What villain touched his body, that did stab. 
 And not for j ustice ? What ! shall one of us, 
 That struck the foremost man in all tlus world 
 But for supporting robbers ; shall we now ' 
 Contaminate our fingers with base bribes 
 And sell tlie mighty space of onr Inrcm iin!,.,,^. 
 
re, In 15(54, nnd 
 'Diamatlste." 
 
 ear in tliis : 
 
 h a case. 
 int. 
 
 jptiou, 
 3member 1 
 
 BRUTUS AND CASSrus 
 
 Than ™ch a taat "' ""'' ^y *e m„„„, 
 
 ■J™. Isayyouarenot. 
 
 Sru. Away! alighl mar'*' ''"P' ""= "o taher. 
 taj. la't possible? 
 
 break; "^^^t till your proud heart 
 
 Under your fety humourf Rtt. '"'.' """"'' 
 You shall di"f ,t ti,. '^^ "'« S»iH 
 
 Tl.ou,.h i d„i; i '■; ™r "/yoT «Ple™, 
 ni use you for my ■2/°;: 'T ">i» day forth. 
 When you are Zlpth' ^ "' ^"^ "^ '""S""-. 
 «"■ Is it come lo this* 
 
 ^m. If 
 
 273 
 
 s:-,^z°A*ii5-»ot, 
 
 me. 
 
 (8B) 
 
 --ar iived, he durst not thus have 
 
 moved 
 
 18 
 
BRUTUS AND CASSIU3. 
 
 Bru. 
 
 Cos. 
 
 £m. 
 
 Gas. 
 
 Bym. 
 
 Gas. 
 
 Peace, peace ; you durst cot so have tempted him. 
 T durst not? 
 No. 
 
 What! durst not tempt him? 
 For your life you durst not. 
 Do not presume too much upon my love ; 
 
 may do that I shall be sorry for. 
 
 Bru. You have done that you should be sorry for. 
 There is no terror, Cassiua, in your threats ; 
 For I am. ai me*? m> strong in honesty, 
 That they pass by me as the idle wind, 
 Which I respect not. I did send to you 
 For certain sums of gold, which you denied me; 
 Fo r I can raise no money by vile means : 
 I had rather coin my heart, 
 And drop my hlood for drachmas, than to wring 
 From the hard hands of peasant* their vile trash 
 By any indirection, I did send 
 To you for gold to pay my legions, 
 Which you denied me: was that done like Cassius? 
 Bhr/fild i have answered Caius Cassius so? 
 When Marcus Brutn.-, grows so covetous, 
 To lock such rascal counters from his friends, 
 Be r^ady, gods, with all your thunderbolts,— 
 Dash /iim to pieces. 
 
 Go^. I denied you not. 
 
 Bru, You did. 
 
 Gas. I did not : he was but a fool 
 That brought my answer back. Ihutua hath rived my 
 
 heart : 
 A friend shoidd bear his friend's infirmities, 
 But Brutiis makes mine greater than they are. 
 
 Bru. I do not, till you practise them on me. 
 
 Gas. You love me not. 
 
 Bru. I do not like your faults. 
 
 Gas. A friendly eye could never see such faults. 
 
 Bru. A flatterer's would not, though they do appear 
 As huge as higli Olympus. 
 
 Gas. Come, Antony, and yonng Octavius, come, 
 
 P 
 
 [^V/iTjrra \T/'\ni»ac|t^-/^q nl 
 
 vf5 «rr,--r-7 •:m ^-'Oar^iua, 
 
mpted liiia 
 
 ve; 
 
 rry for. 
 
 ash 
 
 ,SRiu3? 
 
 h rived iwy 
 
 ilts. 
 
 appear 
 
 BRUTUS AND CASSIUS. 
 
 For Cassius is aweary of the world • 
 
 Set in a note-book S'/" ^' ^""^*« ^^^erv^d, 
 To cast in m; tt^r^^^^ -"-^ by rote. 
 
 My spirit from mn e3.es ,_lk'e? "^'P. 
 And here my naked bre?,; m • '' "^^ ^^^'S^^ 
 Dearer tlian PhtS ^''*'*'.T'""". a heart 
 
 better ''*' ^"'^ ^°^«*> t^^ou bvedst him 
 
 Than ever thou lovedst Cassius. 
 P^'^^- Sheathe your dagger- " 
 Je angry when you will if <,L^^ u 
 
 Cas Hath Cassius lived 
 
 t'as. Brutus '-— 
 
 ■^m What's the matter? 
 
 Makes me forgetful? ^ """^^'^ S^^*^ me 
 
 275 
 
 'i; 
 
 . ( /■' 
 
 r- 
 
'•""^TVliW 11 
 
 276 
 
 MERCY— HAMLET ON DEATU. 
 
 n.-MEIlCY. 
 
 (SHAKSPBRK.) 
 
 The quality of mercy is not strained ; 
 
 It droppeth, as tlie gentle rain from heaven 
 
 Upon the place beneath. It is twice blessed ; 
 
 It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes : 
 
 'Tis mightiest in the mightiest ; it becomes 
 
 The throned monarch better than his crown : 
 
 His sceptre shows the force of temporal power. 
 
 The attribute to awe and majesty, 
 
 Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings ; 
 
 But mercy is above this sceptred sway ; 
 
 It is enthroned in the hearts of kings. 
 
 It is an attribute to God himself; 
 
 And earthly power doth then show likest God's 
 
 When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, man, 
 
 Though justice be thy plea, consider this,— 
 
 That, in the course of justice, none of us 
 
 Should see salvation. We do pray for mercy ; 
 
 And that same prayer doth teach us all to render 
 
 The deeds of mercy. 
 
 in.-HAMLET ON DEATH. 
 
 (snAKSPERH.) 
 
 To be, or not to be, that is the question : 
 Whether 'tis nobler in the mind, to suffer 
 The slings and arrows of outrageous fortuiM, 
 Or to take arms against a sea of troubles. 
 And, by opposing, end them ?— To die— to sleep- 
 No more ;— and, by a sleep, to say we end 
 The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks 
 That flesh is heir to— 'tis a consummation 
 Devoutly to be wished. To die— to sleep- 
 To sleep !— perchance to dream— ay, there's the niK- 
 
 . -J, ,rz vilMir aiccp ui ucctui wtlUt UR-^UuS TiiSiy COIQd, 
 
«HVL0CK,B...:.^NI0, AND ANTONIO. 
 
 The oppressor's tZltZT 7"^ '^"''"^ ^^ «^e. 
 
 The pangs of despSlot Cw'^^V'^^^^'^^^^^' 
 
 The insolence of office Z^'! ^' ^^^^^y' 
 
 That patient meHtor'fhf ' '^'"™' 
 
 When he hin^S mifj ^ ""''"'^^^ *^'^^«. 
 
 With a bare boSf w^' ^"'^ '"''^'^^ 
 
 To groan and sweit un^^ """"^^ ^^'"'^^^^ ^ear. 
 
 i^ut that the ir? nf '''. ^'^'y ^'h 
 
 (That unciscoted IT ''> ^^^^^ ^^^"^ 
 
 ^0 traveler Xn^tt^r .:^-?r ^-- 
 
 ThanXt o"S.r ;i^ 5!^- ^^^ - have. 
 Thus coiscien,t I T ^"'^^ "«' of ' 
 
 And thus eTatt\r'r'^^^^^^ ''^ ^^'' 
 Is fiickh-ed o'er S tw1''''^"'^°° 
 
 And enterprises of gre^t S ^ ''*'^"»^^*' 
 ^Vith this reirarrJ f ff ^ ^"'^ luoment, 
 
 277 
 
 (SHAKSPEBE.) 
 
 ft/- Thbee thousand ducita _w«ii 
 « For .h. .,,„,. ^ , ,„,^ ^^^_ ^^^^^^ ^^^^ ^ 
 
 ,£^;;oVSdt:Ttr'--r 
 
 1 know your answer? "^^3^0" pleasure me? ShaU 
 
 ton 
 
 
 ^ our answer 
 Antonio 
 
 to that. 
 
 good 
 
 man. 
 
278 
 
 SHYLOCK, BASSANIO, AND ANTONIO. 
 
 ( ';i 
 
 ( I 
 
 £as3. Have you licard any imputation to tlie contrary? 
 Hhy. Ho, no, no, no, no. My meaning, in saying he is a 
 good man, is to have you understand me that he is suffi- 
 cient. Yet his means are in supposition. He hath au 
 argosy bound to Tripolis, another to the Indies; I under- 
 stand, moreover, upon the Rialto, ho hath a third at Mexico 
 a fourth for England ; and other ventures he liath squan- 
 dered abroad. But ships are but boards; sailors, but men 
 There bo land rats and water rats, laud thieves and water 
 thieves; I mean pirates: and then thcr.; is the peril of 
 waters, winds, and rocks. The man is, notwithstanding 
 sufficient :— three thousand ducats;-! think I may take his 
 bond. 
 Bass. Be assured you may. 
 
 Shij. I will be assured I may ; and, that I may be assured 
 I will bethink me. May I speak with Antonio? 
 Bass. If it please you to dine with us. 
 Shij. Yes, to smell pork; to eat of the habitation which 
 your prop}, ; ihe Nazarite, conjured the devil into. I will 
 buy with .V . ill with you, talk with you, walk with you, 
 and so ^^l-owir<g; but I will not eat with you, drink with 
 you, nc. pray with you.— What news on the Rialto?— Who 
 ishecomesu.ve? i£,iter Anio7iio. 
 
 Bass. This is Signior Antonio. 
 Shij. [Aside.] How like a fawning publican he looks! 
 I hate him, for he is a Christian : 
 But more, for that in low simplicity 
 He lends out money gratis, and brings down 
 The rate of usance here with us in Venice. 
 If I can catch him once upon the hip, 
 I will feed fat the ancient grudge I bear him. 
 He hates our sacred nation; and he rails. 
 Even there where merchants most do congregate, 
 On me, my bargains, and my well-won thrift, 
 Which he calls interest. Cursed be my tribe, 
 If I forgive him. 
 Bass. Shylock, do you hear? 
 Shy. I am debating on my present store; 
 And, by the near guess of my memory, 
 I cannot instantly raise up the gross 
 
contrary ? 
 nag he i.s a 
 
 he is Buffi- 
 le hath au 
 ?; I under- 
 l at Mexico, 
 lath squau- 
 s, but men. 
 
 and water 
 he peril of 
 thstanding, 
 lay take his 
 
 be assured, 
 
 tion which 
 to, I will 
 : with you, 
 irink with 
 Ito?— Who 
 )' A nionio. 
 
 looks ! 
 
 «nYL0CK,BA8SANI0,A.NDA^.u:.I0. 
 
 Of full three thousand ducats: what of that? 
 
 A^U Shylock, albeit I neither lend nor bornnv 
 By taking, nor by giving of e.x ess, 
 Yet to supply the ripe wants of my friend 
 
 ilow much you wonlrl? ' 
 
 -S'^ Ay ay, thro, hou^ nd ducats. 
 Ant. And for three mouth.s 
 
 Ant. I do never use it. 
 
 'SVty. Three thousand ducats— 'fi« « o„^ i , 
 
 Three months from twelve then iTJ "T"^ '"™' 
 /!«/ Wrii Qi 7 V , ' "''^ ^"^t uie see the rate 
 At. Uell, Sliylock, sl^uU we be beholden to you/ 
 
 On t fe I Sr' ^'r^' '"^"^ ^ *"^« ^^ J oft, "^ 
 Un the Kialto, you have rated me 
 
 About my monies and my usances: • 
 
 btill have I borne it with a patient shrug • 
 
 I or suflerance is the badge of uU our tribe 
 
 You caU me misbeliever, cut-throat do^. 
 
 And spit upon my Jewisli gabardine; °' 
 And a for use of that which is mine own 
 
 Well, then, it no\v appears you need my help • 
 Go to then ; you eoB,e to me, and you^ay, * 
 
 Shylock, we would liave monies : " you « w ro • 
 You. that did void your rheum upon m^ b ard ' 
 And foot me, as you spurn a stranger cur ' 
 m ?r frf''^^ '• ^^""^^« i« y«"r suit. 
 
 What should I say to you? Should I not say. 
 
 Hath a dog money? Is it possible 
 A cur can lend three thousand ducats?" Or 
 wf/ I \'f^ ^°'V'^^' ^° ^ boudmau s key. 
 Say Ihis :- " "-hispenug humbleness, 
 
 27a 
 
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280 
 
 SUYLOCK, BASSANIO, AND ANTONlU 
 
 •i| 
 
 Ym?l ' ^T '^"* °° "^^ *^^ Wednesday last : 
 You spurned me sucji a day ; another time 
 You called me dog; and, for these courtesies, 
 1 11 lend you this much monies ?" 
 
 Am I am as like to call thee so agaiu. 
 To spit on thee again, to spurn thee too. 
 If thou wilt lend this money, lend it not 
 Twi'^ fr;«"ds-for when did fiiendship take 
 A breed for barren metal of his friend? 
 i3ut lend It rather to thine enemy • 
 
 Who If he break, thou mayst with better face 
 ±ixact the penalty. 
 
 ^%. Wliy, look you how vou storm » 
 I would be friends with you, and have your love 
 Forget the shames that you have stained me wi i, 
 Supply your present wants, .,nd take no doit 
 
 ^hirfstn^i^^er^^^ "^' '''''' ^^^ ^- -• 
 
 Atu. This were kindness. 
 *S%. This kindness will I show — 
 Go with me to a notary, seal me there 
 ^ our smgle bond ; and, in a merry sport, 
 it you repay me not on such a day 
 In such a place, such sum or sums as ai-e 
 Expressed m the condition, let the forfeit 
 ^e nommated for an equal pound 
 Of your fair flesh, to be cut off and taken 
 In what part of your body pleaseth me. 
 
 ArU. Content, in faith ; 
 And say there is much kindness in the Jew 
 
 rfZi 7 'u^^ ^'* ''"^ *" ^"''^ a bond for me. 
 I d rather dwell in my necessity. 
 
 Withm these two months, that's a month before 
 
 1 his bond expires, I do expect return 
 
 Ut thrice three times the value of this bond. 
 
 ^%. father Abraham! what these Christians are 
 
 Whose own hard dealings teach them to susp ct ' 
 
 i 1 e thoughts of others .--'Pray you, tell me this: 
 
 h iic should break his day, what should I gaiu 
 
S"VL0CKau«Tirm,^,3K.V.K0^ 
 
 By the exactioa of the forfeiture? 
 To buy his favour. I extenZh-T- , ^*^' 
 Shy. Then Jr^'« f7 F '^'1^ "^*o t^is bond. 
 
 Of an unfhrifrWe * 5 ''"'^"^ ^^''^ 
 IwiUbewitJiyou '''"•^^'•^^^"t^y 
 
 ih 8 Hebrew will turn Christian • h. /^^"^ -^Voc/t. 
 
 28i 
 
 V.-SHYWCK JUSTIPnifO HIS EE7EKGE. 
 
 (SDAKSPERE.) 
 
 hath ^si/S te'^an/'hin!,' "^" '"^ ^^ -^enge. He 
 laughed at my C^'l'S'lt T ^'-'^^^ ^ -"^^- 
 nation, thwarted my birS^nf f ."^^ ^^^"«' ^^'o^ned mv 
 enemies I And wlTa'sSelT? 1 "' '"f '^' ^^^*«^ ^^ 
 a Jew eyes ? Hath not a J^w tLLT ' "^'"^ ' ^^'^ ««^ 
 senses affections, passionsV iT he fo f "f"' ,*^'^^^«ion«. 
 food, hurt with the same weanon, f "^'^^ *^« ^^^e 
 diseases, healed by the sall^ '' '""^J^'* *« t^^e same 
 the same summer and tTnt.?""'' ^nT^^ ^^^ «««Ied by 
 fab us, do we not bleeT? k'J ^ ?f?*^'^° ^«? I^ you 
 iaugh? Ifyoupoison s dow«r^*-f ' "«' ^^ ^« no? 
 "s. shall we not Lenge? If Z T. ,t ^ '"'^ ^^ ^"^^ ^^^nl 
 w|ll resemble you in tjL , tT.^' ^^^« ^°" ^^ the rest, wt 
 w^at Is his humilitv? pI. "„" "^^f ^'""^ a Christian, 
 
 Kevenge. If a Chrl 
 
 stjan wrou' 
 
2A2 
 
 ANTONY AND VENTIDIUS. 
 
 Jew, what should his sufferance be by Christian example? 
 Why, revenge ! Tlie viUany you teach me I will execute : 
 and It shaU go hard, but I will better the instruction 
 
 11 
 
 VI.-ANTONY AND VENTIDIUS. 
 
 (dryden.) 
 
 Vejit. Are you Antony? 
 I'm liker what I was, than you to him 
 I left you last. 
 
 Ant. I'm angry. 
 
 Vent. So am I. 
 
 Ant. I would be private : leave me. 
 
 Ve7ii. Sir, I love you. 
 And therefore will not leave you. 
 
 Ant. Will not leave me ! 
 Where have you learned that answer? Who am I ? 
 
 Vent. My emperor; the man I love next heaven : 
 If I said more, I think 'twere scarce a sin. 
 You're all that's good and god-like. 
 
 Ant. All that's wretched. 
 You will not leave me, then? 
 
 Vent. 'Twas too presuming 
 To say I would not ; but I dare not leave you : 
 And 'tis unkind in you to chide me hence 
 So soon, when I so far have come to see you. 
 
 Ant. Now thou hast seen me, art thou satisfied? 
 For if a friend, thou hast beheld enough; 
 And if a foe, too much. 
 
 Vent. Look, emperor; this is no common dew; 
 
 [Weeping. 
 I have not wept this forty years ; but now 
 l^Iy mother comes afresh into my eyes. 
 I cannot help her softness. 
 
 Ant. By Heaven, he weeps! poor, good old man, ho 
 weeps ! 
 The big round drops course one anothti down 
 The furrows of his cheeks.— Stoj) them, Ventidiu.s, 
 
AKTONY AND VENTIDIUS. 
 
 yent. I Jl do my best. 
 For my on irrirf, 1 . . *! • ""■" '"<'• '« »"' 
 
 Salutes rS reStb'ul ;'* ""*" """"O^^ 
 
 ''e/i^. I warrant you. 
 ^nt Actium.Actium! oh'-^ 
 '^ewi!. It sits too near you 
 
 Ihe Img that rides my dreams ^ ' ""' 
 
 J-^.Outwithit;giveitv;nt. • 
 ^wi!. Urge not my shame. 
 ■I lost a battle,— 
 
 f^m^! So has Julius done. 
 
 1^7, '^^^"^'^* -^' -d speak'st not half thou 
 
 B:iAi/!l^="^'^^-^'-d lost it fairly; 
 
 yent. Nay, stop not. 
 Ant. Antony- 
 Well, thou-wilt have i"f Tl 
 
 -4"«. Iknowthymeamns. 
 
 283 
 
 
 ■h\' 
 
 m 
 
284 
 
 ANTONY AND VKNTIDIUS. 
 
 WhenZ r'*""?' "^'* ^y "P^^^d years. 
 Wheu first I came to empire, I was borne 
 
 I he wish of nations ; and the wiUing world 
 lleceived me as its pledge of future peace 
 I was so great, so happy, so beloved, 
 Fate cou d not ruin me ; tiU I took pains 
 And worked against my fortune, chid her from me 
 And turned her loose : yet stiU she came agah 
 My careless days and my luxurious nights ' 
 At length have wearied her. and now she's gone 
 Gone, gone divorced for ever. Help me soE 
 To curse this madman, this industriouTfiol ' 
 rl!fr '' '^ ""*^'^'- ^^•V"-^ c-e me. 
 Ant. Why? 
 
 Ve7U. You are too sensible abeady 
 Of what you've done, too conscious of your failings • 
 And like a scorpion, whipt by others first ^ ' 
 
 lo fury, sting yourself in mad revenge 
 I would bring balm, and pour it in your wounds 
 Cure your distempered mind, and heal Z? fortunes. 
 Ant. I know thou wouldst. lortuncs. 
 
 l^ent. I will 
 Ant. Ha, ha, ha, ha! 
 Vent. You laugh. 
 Ant. I do, to see officious love 
 Give cordials to the dead. 
 
 Vent. You would be lost, then? 
 Ant. lam. 
 
 V^t. I say you are not. Try your fortune, 
 perate '^' "'^°^'- '"''' '"^'^ '^'^^ >-« Jos- 
 
 Without just cause ? No ; when I found all lost 
 Beyond repair. I hid me from the world 
 And learnt to scorn it here; which now I do 
 So heartily, I think it is not worth 
 1 he cost of keeping. 
 
 Vent. Caesar thinks not so • 
 He'U thank you for the gift he could not take. 
 
8. 
 
 lis; 
 
 ANTONY AND VENTIDIlTg. 
 
 •om me, 
 ain. 
 
 ?one, 
 Idier, 
 
 fseiue. 
 
 ailiugs; 
 
 ndfl, 
 'ortuucs. 
 
 ik me (lea- 
 
 You woiiW I» kilW like Tully, «ul,l von? n„ 
 Hold out your throat to C» J aud d /.Tily ' 
 
 B£Sur:;;r„rr„or;ote" '■■"-" 
 
 •10 hghfc, to conquer. 
 
 I W the™, Patie^t'iothtf hf^tS ™;:ir^' 
 Down fr„„ fte Parthian n„r.ho, to Zm, 
 TwiU do you good to see their sunburnt S' 
 The. .arred eheeka. and ohopt hand,":' S, virtue i„ 
 
 Ant. Where left you them?' 
 ^«i^. I said in Lower Syria. 
 Ant. Bring them hither; 
 There may be life in these. 
 Vent. They wiU not come. 
 ^nOYhy didst thou mock my hopes with promised 
 
 '^p;o^sf««,,^^^^^^ 
 
 Ant. Yet they will not march 
 lo succour me. Ohtrifleri 
 Vent. They petition 
 
 I*I^wm'our™^*'''"''-""»™»IW«.er, 
 
 Ab7«err'Z„™""''P^*'P''"« 
 Ant. I never used 
 
 My soldiers to demand a reason of 
 My actions. Why r?,vi +hrv -'-,^ 
 
 r«>/ TJ,^,, -i ;,"■' ^ ^ '^"^'^^ ^0 march? 
 
 »-««. They »,d they would not fight for Cleopatra. 
 
 285 
 
 
286 
 
 ANTONY AND VENTIDIU9. 
 
 Why should they fight, indeed, to make her conquer 
 Md make you more a slave? to gain you kingdoms, 
 VVhich, for a kiss, at your next midnight feast. 
 You 11 sell to her? Then she new-names her jewels, 
 And calls this diamond such or such a tax; 
 Each pendant in her ear shall be a province. 
 
 A7it Ventidius, I allow your tongue free license 
 Vn all my other faults; but, on your life 
 No word of Cleopatra : she deserves 
 More worlds than I can lose. 
 Feni. Behold, you Powers, 
 To whom you have intrusted human kind! 
 See Europe, Africa, Asia, put in balance, " 
 And ail weighed down by one light, worthless womanl 
 1 tiuuk the gods are Anionics, and give, 
 Like prodigals, this nether world away ' 
 To none but wasteful hands. 
 Ant. You grow presumptuous. 
 Vent. I take the privilege of plain love to speak 
 Ant. Plain lovei-plain arrogance, plain insolence » 
 I hy men are cowards ; thou, an envious traitor, 
 Who, under seeming honesty, hast vented 
 The burden of thy rank o'erflowing gall. 
 Oh that thou wert my equal ; great in arms 
 As the first Caesar was, that I might kiU thee 
 Without a stain to honour ! 
 Vent. You may kill me ; 
 You have done more already ;-calIed me traitor. 
 Ant. Art thou not one? 
 Vent. For showing you yourself. 
 Which none else durst have done ?' But had I been 
 Ihat name, which I disdain to speak again 
 I needed not have sought your abject fortunes. 
 Come to partake your fate, to die with you 
 What hindered me to have led my conquering eagles 
 To fill Octavius' bands? I could have been 
 A traitor then, a glorious, happy traitor. 
 And not have been so called. 
 ^ Ant. Forgive me, soldier; 
 I've been too passionate; 
 
CATO'S SENATE. 
 
 Fef^j You thought me false; 
 Though my old age betrayed you. Kill me sir 
 I lay, khi me : yet you noprl n^f . „ V. ' 
 
 Has left your sword no work ' ' ""^''^dnesa 
 
 Ant. Ididnotthiiikso; 
 1 said It m my rage. Pr'ythee forgive me • 
 
 Vent. No prince but you 
 CouM merit that mneerily I used, 
 Nor durst another mn have veied if 
 wlr«- TJT. """'"' J-™^ waudelg eyea 
 Earned ^ t *''' ""1 ""^' °f '>«■»'»' ™ e ' 
 
 At their own mCAZtlT^'^^i "™"°"*' 
 Hse you had been immortal, and a pattern 
 
 287 
 
 Vn.-CATO'S SENATE. 
 
 (addtson.) 
 
 And Rome attend, her fate from our^S « 
 
 What eourae .olr Our^'Xar ^'f.^^^ 
 And envie, us even Libya'a sultry desert, ' 
 
 stSinssVttt'u-'---- 
 
 Or are your hearts subdued at Iengi;,*aud wrought 
 
 tf: 
 
SM 
 
 ■no 
 
 OATO'S SEXATF, 
 
 it ir 
 ill" 
 
 
 By time and ill success to a submission 1 
 Sempronius, spenk. 
 
 Sempronius. My voice is still for war. 
 Gods ! can a Roman senate long debate 
 Winch of the two to choose, slavery or death ? 
 ^0 ; let us rise at once, gird on our swords. 
 And at the head of our remaining troons 
 Attack the foe, break through the thick irray 
 Of his thronged legions, and charge home upon him 
 Perhaps some arm, more lucky than tlie rest 
 May reach his heart, and free the world from bondage 
 Rise, fathers, lise! 'tis Rome demands your help ^ 
 Rise and revenge her slaughtered citizens. 
 Or share her fate ! the corpses of half her senate 
 Manure the fields of Thessaly, while we 
 Sit here deliberating in cold debates 
 If we should sacrifice our lives to honour 
 Or wear them out in servitude and chains 
 Rouse up, for shame! our brothers of Pharsalia 
 Point at their wounds, and cry aloud-To battle ' 
 Great Pompcy's shade complains that we are slow 
 And Scipio 8 ghost walks unrevenged amongst us - ' 
 
 Lato. Let not a torrent of impetuous zeal 
 Transport thee thus beyond the bounds of reason: 
 Inie fortitude is seen in great exploits 
 That justice warrants, and that wisdom guides- 
 All else 13 towering frenzy and distraction 
 Are not the lives of those who draw the sword 
 In Rome s defence intrusted to our care? 
 Should we thus lead them to a field of slaughter 
 Might not the impartial world with reason say. 
 We lavished at our deaths tU blood of thousands 
 lo grace our fall, and make our ruin glorious ? ' 
 Lucius, we next would know what's your opinion 
 
 Zt^«« My thoughts, I must confess, are turned on 
 Already have our quarrels filled the world fpeace 
 With widows and with orphans : Scythia mourns ' 
 Uur guilty wars, and earth's remotest regions 
 Lie half-unpeopled by the feuds of Rome- 
 Tis time to sheathe the sword and spare mankind 
 
OATO's SRXATre. 
 
 lihl 
 
 -ay 
 ipon him. 
 
 3t, 
 
 )ra bondage, 
 help; 
 
 uato 
 
 lah'a 
 attle ! 
 "e slow, 
 
 [st us ! 
 
 3ason : 
 
 les; 
 
 rd 
 
 hter 
 ay, 
 anda, 
 it 
 
 linion. 
 turned on 
 [peace, 
 •urns 
 I 
 
 ikind. 
 
 (sr, 
 
 Ow vain attempta rf. ' ".?"* ■■''"■' 
 (Prompted by bd 7 '" "'» f" '» "-"Wo 
 
 And not to rest in nl , ^^ovidenco, 
 Already have te"l owJ'" ' ,^°*^™'°^tiou. 
 
 Wetook„parrtrr«"totheff^^^^^ 
 
 ftfreethSrrnwe*:,[rT--^-, 
 
 Arms have no furtwT ' '^^"" ^'"« end nu'is 
 
 Tlmt dre^vourswo ds now '"' f''""^^>''« ^''^"4 
 
 And bids us notT&t r'^'","'"^ ^'''^'^ '^"r hands 
 
 Unprofitably shed wi J ^""''^'^ ^^««''. 
 
 Is done alreadv l,'. "''" '°"'^' d« 
 
 If Home nnS, "Ct"r' ''^''' -'•" -^^'^oss. 
 
 '^^^T'. This snnnll A- """^ innocent. 
 Conceal a Z^^^^^^;;^'^' f "^ mild behaviour, oft 
 All is not right-C-rr?. ^ ""^'''P"'' «^« 
 6Wo. Let usannn ' ''"'"'" of I^uciuft 
 
 Immoderate vaiof "7-^ 
 
 And fear adm f f?i • T ^^^ '"^° » fault ; 
 
 ^etraysllLt^,^;^^^^"^^^-"'^"^^^^ 
 
 fathers, I cannTs^; tit 0^'^" "'^^ ^°"'- 
 Are grown t]..,« r7. "^ affixirs 
 
 ^nmidia's spacious mZZT ^ I ?T'^ '' 
 I^eady to rise «<■ ifo '"^°^°^ ^'^=s behmd us. 
 
 While there ?s Jo ' T""" ^'''''''' «^«- 
 
 ^utwaitaTi:iTst:::,'!:r"^**'^«^-'^^^ 
 
 Force us to yield 'TwHi f ''^^P^^ach 
 
 To sue for chains 'an J n "''''' ^' *°° ^ate 
 Why should Ri'ff,;:^^^«««q"oror. 
 
 No, let us draw hert " of?'"? ''' ^''' ^'^^^ ? 
 In its full length ZT ^^ ^^^^^dom out 
 
 So shall y^egfn'Xn^Z '' ,*° '^'' ^'''^ 
 And let me nSh ?' ^^^' ^^^^^^y; 
 Aday.aXt^Vv-';!,:!^^^^^^ 
 Is worth a whole eternity*- -"^' 
 
 i'R9 
 
 if 
 
 19 
 
soo 
 
 CATO ON THK 80UI. 
 
 Vni.-CATO ON THE SOUL 
 
 (addisum.) 
 
 It must be so !— Plato, thou reason'at well ! 
 
 Else, whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire, 
 
 This longing after immortality ? 
 
 Or whence this secret dread and inward horror 
 
 Offalling into nought? Why shrinks the soul 
 
 Back on herself, and startles at destruction?— 
 
 'Tis the Divinity that stirs within us ; 
 
 'Tis Heaven itself that points out an Hereafter, 
 
 And intimates Eternity to man. 
 
 Eternity !— thou pleasing— dreadful thought ! 
 
 Through what variety of untried being, 
 
 Through what new scenes and changes must we pass ! 
 
 The Wide, the unbounded prospect lies before me ; 
 
 But shadows, clouds, and darkness, rest upon it.— 
 
 Here will I hold. If there's a Power above— 
 
 And that there is, all nature cries aloud 
 
 Through all her works— He must delight in virtue : 
 
 And that which He delights in must be happy. 
 
 But when ? or where ? This world— was ^^ade for Ca;sur. 
 
 I'm weary of conjectures— this must end them.— 
 
 [Laying his hand on his sword 
 Thus I am doubly armed. My death and life, 
 My bane and antidote, are both before me. 
 This, in a moment brings me to an end ; 
 But this, informs me I sliall never die. 
 The soul, secured in her existence, smiles 
 At the drawn dagger, and defies its point— 
 The stars shall fade away, the sun himself 
 Grov/ dim with age, and nature sink in years ; 
 But thou shalt flourish in immortal youth, 
 Unhurt amidst the war of elements, 
 Tho wreck of matter, and the crush of worlds. 
 
r.ni. (cnotr.) 
 
 *'«tlilDe conspired w»h m«n , . 
 
 Of tJus rebellion. Lucius Catiline 
 
 goda and men, ''"'' ^ '"^i'^^t t'le charge, to 
 
 5''-at he has lea^ueK h ^ "'" *'^' ^^^^^^^ J 
 To seize the provL, t 'T'^^' ^^'^°^ ^fa 1 
 And raised li r:S;:2d'^t W^' ''^'^^'^ 
 
 Tojl-sehehasno^nlf'""^''^-'^«^^ve. 
 6a^./j«.. Conscript fathm! 
 
 But here Lta^fo^^L^r^^r^^ 
 For Koman right' tho m 'nT •.""' '''^^^ Proofs!- 
 To take theirlha e wi f J" V^^ T"'' ^^^^^ ^^^^ 
 C 'i^^ to your master.HuSl •« p^' ^^"^^^^ tJ^^'"^' •' 
 His charge is/«^,,/ f rfi"S '^^''''''' 
 
 Vou have my answer -WnT !° ^'' P^°°^«- 
 C^A C/....1- r. ,• i«'= oiy actions Rno-a]- ' 
 
 traitor done ? ^' '^^^" ^°"^^«ce you ! H.« t^^ 
 
•51*1 
 
 u 
 
 -If ' 
 
 2f)2 KXPULSION OF CATILINE FIIOM THE SENATE. 
 
 Cat. But this I will avow, that I have scorned, 
 And still do scorn, to hide my sense of wrong ; 
 Who brands rae on the forehead, breaks my sword. 
 Or lays the bloody scourge upon my back, 
 Wrongs me not half so much as he who shuts 
 The gates of honour on me, — turning out 
 The Eoman from his birthright,— and for what? 
 To fling your otlices to every slave : {Looking round htm.) 
 Vipers, that creep where man disdains to climb ; 
 And having wound their loathsome track to the top 
 Of this huge, mouldering monument of llome. 
 Hang hissing at tho nobler men below. 
 
 Cic. Tills is his answer! Must I bring more proofs? 
 Fathers, you know there lives not one of us, 
 Uut lives in peril of his midnight sword. 
 Lists of proscription have been handed round, 
 In which your properties are made 
 Your murderer's hire. 
 
 {A cry without, " Alore prisoners ! " Enter an officer with 
 letters for Cicero, who, after looking at them, sends ihm 
 round the senate.) 
 
 Cic. Fathers of P.ome ! if men can be convinced 
 By proof, as clear as daylight, here it is ! 
 Look on these letters ! Here's a deep-laid plot 
 To wreck the provinces ; a solemn league. 
 Made with all form and circumstance. The time 
 Is desperate,~all tlie slaves are up,— Rome shakes !— 
 The heavens alone can tell how near our graves 
 We stand even here ! The name of Catiline 
 Is foremost in the league. He was their king. 
 Tried and convicted Traitor ! Go from Rome ! 
 Cat. {Rising haughtily.) Come, consecrated lictors, from 
 your thrones ! {To the senate.) 
 
 Fling down your sceptres !— take the rod and axe, 
 And make the muFder, as you make the law ! 
 Cic. {I'o an officer, and interrupting Catiline.) Give up 
 the record of his banishment. 
 
 {The officer gives it to the consul.) 
 Cat. { With indignation.) Banished from Rome ! What's 
 baui,s]icd, but set free 
 
'^ATK, 
 C(l, 
 
 rord, 
 round hhn) 
 
 >; 
 
 e top 
 
 proofs ? 
 
 n officer with 
 sends thmi 
 
 10 
 
 kea I— 
 
 lictors, from 
 he senate.) 
 :e, 
 
 e.) Give up 
 
 le consul.) 
 e! What'a 
 
 ."r":"-^"^""-— ™.s»„. 
 
 Wiio'JI prove Tat 1 n !^' ' ''^^° ''^y^ "^i«? 
 
 Barn-shed? I thai v / J °° "^^ ^^'^'^'J ^ 
 
 I i^old some sJack aliegllncS till S-\''^'' "^^ ^^^^'" •' 
 
 But now my sword's my own ^^',^«"^'- 
 
 J scorn to count what ioZ^l JT^' ?' "^^ lords! 
 
 S rong provQ.atio„s, b tte 1 ' n! '''^ ^^"^'^^' 
 
 I Jiave witlun my heart'« l? . ?,""= ""'^^S^' 
 
 ^oar consul's mercifnl • f I , ■ ^ ^' 
 He/ues not tone tL^y^Sr f"^'' 
 
 of the senaL, yotUSe'/^^''^^ "^^^"''"^ ' ^^"- decree 
 «tate and banished from 7,1 f ^^^^^J^^^d alien to the 
 wealth;" ('7'w,.«, / ,'" t"e territory of fli« „ 
 
 ^^«^/4;:it:5;*7-^-;^thetempIe- 
 
 Hcre I devote your senlT^i^/, ^f,*"^'^-' This trial ! 
 
 To stir a fever in the blood of "^ '^'■°"=«' 
 
 And make the infn^P • ^'^°®' 
 
 This day's the JS nf ''"'"^^ ^'^«"» «« «toeI. 
 
 ^iil bre'ed proscr 1^^^^^^^^ This hour's work 
 
 J^or there hencefor h sha 1 sf^f ' ? ^'"' ^^^^^^^s, my lords < 
 
 Shapes hot from Tartarus' i) !7 ^""'^^^ 
 
 Wan Treachery, with his /htfl""'' '°^ ^^"^"^s; 
 
 Suspicion, poisonin^. ht brn f ^ ^^^'' '^'■"^^» ' 
 
 J^aked Rebellion with n . ^T ' '"P ' 
 
 Making his w d snni f ' ^'''^ ^"^ ^-^'e. 
 
 Till Anarchy ilestwn''"'' ^^'^'"- *h^«"««; 
 
 --iMassac^sel^tre's^^n"^^^^^^^^^^^^^ 
 
 293 
 
 ... i 
 
 I 
 
 
 ,i<'^ 
 
 ^if 
 
294 
 
 clarenck's drkam. 
 
 X.-CLARENCE'S DREAM. 
 
 (SHAKSPERE.) 
 
 Oeort;e, Duke of Clarence, brother of Klnp Kdward IV., died In the Tower ot 
 London In 1478. Sliukspere adopts the rumour that the Duke of Gloucester 
 assisted the murderers in despatching his unfortunate brotlicr; some alleged 
 that be was the sole executioner. 
 
 METnouGHT that I had broken from the Tower, 
 
 And was embarked to cross to Burgundy ; 
 
 And in my company my brother Gloster : 
 
 Who from my cabin tempted me to walk 
 
 Upon the hatches ; thence we looked toward England, 
 
 And cited up a thousand heavy times, 
 
 During the wars of York and Lancaster, 
 
 That had befallen us. As we paced along 
 
 Upon the giddy footing of the hatches, 
 
 Methought that Gloster stumbled ; and, in falling, 
 
 Struck me, that thought to stay him, overboard, 
 
 Into the tumbling billows of the main. 
 
 then methought what pain it was to drown ! 
 
 What dreadful noise of water in mine ears ! 
 
 What sights of ugly death within mine eyes ! 
 
 Methought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks ; 
 
 A thousand men that fishes gnawed upon ; 
 
 Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl, 
 
 Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels. 
 
 All scattered in the bottom of the sea. 
 
 Some lay in dead men's skulls ; and in those holes 
 
 Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept, 
 
 As 'twere in scorn of eyes, reflecting gems, 
 
 That wooed the slimy bottom of the deep, 
 
 And mocked the dead bones that lay scattered by. 
 
 And often did I strive 
 To yield the ghost : but still tl o envious flood 
 Kept in my soul, and would not let it forth 
 To seek the empty, vast, and wandering air; 
 lUit smothered it within my panting bulk, 
 vV hieh almost burst to belch it iu the sea. 
 
 j I 
 
n the Tower ot 
 e of Gloucester 
 ' ; Bomc alleged 
 
 )WCV, 
 
 I England, 
 
 Palling, 
 )ard, 
 
 •n! 
 I 
 
 •1, 
 
 I holes 
 
 pt, 
 
 5dby. 
 
 'e 
 
 d 
 
 I passed, methm.rri.^ .,^^^^ °^ ^Y soul 
 With thaS ?Si ' * ^^ n^r'-^^ fl«od 
 Unto the kingdom of? ''}'f ^'^' ^"^c of. 
 The first that tl^e ivf^'*."'^ "^■^^^^• 
 Was my great fSr„ f'* "^^ ^t'-'-^n^or-sonl 
 ^Vl^o cried aloud I'lv^^^^^^^^^ ^^°«^^^ Warwick; 
 Can thi. dark monarchyfCd^T 'n?"^""^-^ 
 And 80 he vanished n^f ""^'^ Clarence?" 
 A shadow like an «; J vf f'*' wandering by 
 Dabbled in blood. S^^^i^bri^^^ 
 
 "Clarence is cle-fal 1' f^^^'^ °"* ^^«"<^- 
 
 That stabbed me I tt fi;^?' '^^^ ^^™-. 
 
 Seize on him. furies f nt i • ^ Tewkesbury ;— 
 
 With that, metSjht a , ""^ *^^°"^ ^^^^'^ •'" 
 
 Environed me anThn ' ?J ?'°" °^^o"l fiends 
 
 Such hideorirles fw "^^ u^ '"^"^ ^^''^ 
 
 I trembling ;S fnd T'"^ '^' "^^ ^°^«« 
 
 Could not believ but l^T^ ''"'°° ^^''^^ 
 
 Such terrible impres L,^^^^ ^/^ ^" ^^"• 
 
 Oh, Bi-ackenbury Tw"^^"^' '^^ ^'•^''^"^• 
 
 That now give evidpnr ^"^^ "^'«^ ^^^^S^- ' 
 
 For Edward's sail 7^'^°'* "^^ «««JA 
 
 Heaven i ^y dLn"n ''' ^"" ^^ ^^^'"•^- ^.o - - 
 
 But thou wilt &.e7r' '''''' '''f^P-^«« thee. 
 
 Vet execu^. thy wtthfn me "LT '"'^' 
 
 spare my guiltless .vife and t. , 
 
 ^t-a^y, and I fain would sleep. 
 
 (SBAKSPERE.) 
 
 295 
 
 # 
 
 ■ii 
 
296 CASSIUS ROUSING BRUTUS AGAINST CiESAR. 
 
 I was Lorn free as Csesar ; bo were you : 
 
 We both liave fed as well ; aud we can both 
 
 Endure the winter's cold as well as he. 
 
 For once, upon a raw and gusty day, 
 
 The troubled Tiber chafing with his shores, 
 
 Caesar said to me : " Darest thou, Cassius, now 
 
 Leap in with me into this angry flood, 
 
 And swim to yonder point V Upon the word, 
 
 Accoutr'd as I was, I plunged in, 
 
 And bade him follow : so, indeed, he did. 
 
 The torrent roared ; and we did buffet it 
 
 With lusty sinews ; throwing it aside. 
 
 And stemming it with hearts of controversy. 
 
 But ere we could arrive the point proposed, 
 
 Caesar cried, — " Help me, Cassius, or I sink !" 
 
 I, as -^neas, our great ancestor. 
 
 Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder 
 
 The old Aiichises bear, so, from the waves of Titer, 
 
 Did I the tired Ca;sar. And this man 
 
 Is now become a god ; and Cassius is 
 
 A wretched creature, aud must bend his body, 
 
 If Csesar carelessly but nod on him ! 
 
 He had a fever when he was in Spain, 
 
 And, when the fit was on him, I did mark 
 
 How he did shake : 'tis true, this god did shake : 
 
 His coward lips did from their colour fly ; 
 
 And that same eye, whose bend doth awe the world, 
 
 Did lose his lustre : I did hear him groan ; 
 
 Ay, and that tongue of his, that bade the Romans 
 
 Mark him, and write his speeches in their books, 
 
 Alas ! it cried, — " Give me some drink, Titinius," 
 
 As a sick girl. Ye gods ! it doth amaze me, 
 
 A man of such a feeble temper should 
 
 So get the start of the majestic world, 
 
 And bear the palm alone. 
 
 Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world 
 
 liike a Colossus ; and we petty men 
 
 AV'alk under his huge legs, and peep about 
 
All 
 
 iow 
 rd, 
 
 ler 
 f Tiber, 
 
 y, 
 
 lake : 
 
 le world, 
 
 )man3 
 
 ooks, 
 
 liiis," 
 
 (Shout.) 
 
 SCEXE PROM WILLIAM TELL. 
 
 To find oursolvea dishonourable graves 
 
 ie fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, 
 B in ourselves, that we are underlings. 
 
 whr^;o'u"id£Tn-' '';!^''^* ^'r ^^^^ *^«* c---? 
 
 o 1.1 ft^i^Ji-i , j'uurs zs as lair a nanip • 
 
 wS C ' I '""^ f "°"^ "^« --^h iTe-ll 
 
 Brutus Willi V '' -^'^"^^ = ^""J"^-'^ ^^ith them 
 
 Now in . "^ "^ 'P^"*^ "' '««" ^« Caesar- 
 JJow, in the names of all the gods at once 
 
 Upon w],afc ^eat doth this our fear feed, 
 
 Rol^V T7r ^''^^ ^ ^S«' tJ^«» ^rt shamed ' 
 Eome, thou hast lost the breed, of noble bloodsT ' 
 
 men went there by an age, sinee the great iiood 
 But It was fomed with more tlian with o Jman ? 
 
 Tha^ her wide walks compassed but one man ? ' 
 
 Now ,s ,t Eome, indeed, and room enough 
 When there IS in it but one only man? ° ' 
 Oh ! you and I have heard our fathers say 
 
 ^Zr" f i^'",*"' °"^^' *^^* ^°"W have brooked 
 
 207 
 
 Hi-": 
 III 
 
 Id 
 
 Xn.-SCENE FROM WILLIAM TELL. 
 
 (KN0WLE3.) 
 Kr. James Sheridan Knowles was born in Cork in 1794 w, , 
 
 dramatic works, n>,,„„,, n, j.^^.^^^^^ ^^J^^ Hi. fame rest, on hi, 
 
 G.a.H^ TK.X, an. AX.KKX: V.h..„, s.h..«, «„, ^0...^ 
 
 Samem. Down, slave ' 
 
298 
 
 SCENE FROM WILLIAM TKLL. 
 
 i 
 
 I 
 
 Gei. What! he so fiimcd 'bovc all his countn-mcu 
 For guiding o'er the stormy lake the boat i 
 And sucli a master of his bow, 'tis said 
 His arrows never miss \-{Aside) Indeed !-ril take 
 Exqinsitc vengeance :-Mark ! I'll spare thy life 
 The boy's, too. Both of you are freo,-on one ' 
 Londition, 
 
 Tell. Name the trial you 
 Would have me make. {Tell looks on Albert.) 
 
 (res. You look upon your boy. 
 As though, instinctively, you guessed it 
 
 Tell. Look 
 
 Upon my boy l-What mean you ? Look upon 
 My twy, as though I guessed it ! Guessed the trial 
 You d have me make ! Guessed it 
 Instinctively ! You do not mean— no— no— 
 You would not have me make a trial of 
 My skill upon my child ! Impossible 1 
 I do not guess your meaning. 
 
 Ges. I would see 
 Thee hit an apple at the distance of 
 A hundred paces. 
 
 Tell. Is my boy to hold it? 
 Ges. It is to rest upon his head. 
 Tell. Great heaven, 
 Thou hear'st him ! 
 
 Ges. Thou dost hear the choice I give,— 
 Such trial of the skill thou'rt master of,' 
 Or death to both of you, not otherwise ' 
 To be escaped. 
 
 Tell. monster ! 
 Ferocious monster ! Make 
 A father murder his own child ' 
 
 Ge^. Take off 
 His chains, if he consents. 
 (Gesler sms to his officers, ivho proceed to tal-e off Tell's 
 c/ia«w, Tell 0^^ </*« while unconscious of tv/tat theu do.) 
 Tell. With his own hand ! 
 Afunlor his child with his own hand ! 
 Tiie hand I've led him, when an inlaat, by I 
 
8CKM.: FROM W'lLLUM TBLL. 
 (f/Js chains fall of.) WJ.afs tliut you 
 
 Villains! put on my chains again J 
 ■Uly Jjands 
 
 Are free from blood, and have no gust for if 
 That they should drink my child's^!! ^*' 
 
 1 II not 
 Brurder my boy for Gcsler. 
 %^]' Dost thou consent? 
 ^e/^. Give me my bow and quiver ' 
 Ges. For what? 4i"vei ; 
 
 "tyU: To shoot my boy f 
 ^/6. No, father, no I 
 
 leu. Lead me forth,— 
 •in make the trial.' 
 ■^Ih. Thank you' 
 Tell. Thank me !-Do 
 
 ^^^. Fatlier— 
 
 ^e^^. Speak not to me 
 
 The deed, and ^Itl^^^^^T'^^^^ '' 
 My bow and quiver' °'' ^° "^^^^ ^^ •' G've me 
 Ges. ^ThaU3 your ground. Now shall they meaaux. 
 
 The line a true one ? 
 
 Ge.s. Be thankful, slave, 
 ^•n- grace accords thoe life on any ternus. 
 
 298 
 
 ''• til 
 
 m 
 
 m 
 
 ■i: ■ 
 
3tX) 
 
 SCENE FUOM WILLIAM TELL. 
 
 Tell, I will be thankful, Gesler!— Villain, stup! 
 You measure to the sun. {To the atleridant.) 
 
 Oes. And what of that? 
 What matter, whether to or from the sun ? 
 
 Tell. I'd have it at my back. The sun should shine 
 Upon the mark, and not on him that shoots. 
 I cannot see to shoot against the sun : 
 I will not shoot against the sun ! 
 Ges. Give him his way ! Tliou hast cause to bless 
 
 my mercy. 
 Tell. I shall remember it. I'd like to see 
 The apple I'm about to shoot at. 
 
 Ges. Show me 
 The basket. There ! {Gives a veni small apple.) 
 Tell. You've picked the smallest one. 
 Ges. I know I have. 
 Tell. Oh, do you? But you see 
 The colour of 't is dark,— I'd have it light, 
 To see it better. 
 
 Ges. Take it as it is : 
 Thy skill will bo the greater, if thou hit'st it. 
 
 Tell. True,— true,— I didn't tliink of that ;— I wonder 
 I did not think of that. Give me some chance 
 To save my hoy —{Throws away the apple) I will not 
 
 murder him, 
 If I can help it,— for the honour of 
 The form thou wear'st, if all the heart is gone. 
 Ges. Well, choose thyself. 
 
 {Hands a basket of apples. Tell tales one.) 
 Tell. Have I a friend among 
 The lookers on ? 
 Vemer. Here, Tell ! 
 
 Tell. I thank thee, Verner ! Take the boy 
 And set him, Verner, with his back to me. 
 Set him upon his knees ;— and place this apple 
 Upon his head, so that the stem may front me,— 
 Thus, Verner : charge him to keep steady,— tell hira 
 I'll hit the apple ! Verner, do all this 
 More briefly than I tell it thee. 
 Alb. May I not speak with him before I go? 
 
SCEVE PROJI.WILLIAM TELL 
 
 Tei/ mi (^^"««'».'7 into Tell's arms ) 
 
 UU. If thou canst bear it, should not T ? P , 
 
 uo, boy -bo thou but steady, I will liit 
 
 The apple Go :-God bless thee, -Go 
 
 Thou wilt .If^'TJ ^^'"'^'"' ^'''' '^^' ^ow.) 
 J_nou wjit not fail thy master, wilt tlion 1 ni 
 
 Hast never failed him yet, old se vint K "" 
 
 IS;;;:^^'^^^^^--^'^^-- to find thee 
 Could I suspect thee so. Come T will «fni . 
 Myall upon thee ! Let me seTi/y;^ ^^^^^^ 
 
 Satni Vr" '''/ -^^ ^'^"t' t'^^ fekher jaLod • 
 
 0-«. Let Jiim have 
 Another. {Tdl examines ]t) 
 
 Vn,'^\ ^^1'^' '^^' ^'"'^^ than the first 
 But yet not ,ood enough for such an aim 
 
 lUno"? 1 ^'••/^"^^'^•'^^•^^^"theshr 
 
 1 11 not slioot with it .' {Throws it away ) Lot ... 
 
 my quiver ^-f-a^-) Let me see 
 
 BnuYt- 'tis not'one arrow 5n a dozen 
 Id take to shoot witli at a dove, much less 
 
 Will you give it me or not ? ' 
 
 6?es. It matters not. 
 Show him the quiver 
 
 Heaven. :Ef^;,-rS,KS'''' 
 
 301 
 
 ',» 
 

 
 309 
 
 TELL TO HIS NATIVE MOUNTAIN^ 
 
 Your prayers,— your prayers :— and l>e my witiicflses 
 That, if liis life's in peril from my liaud, * 
 
 'Tis Duly for the chance of saving it. 
 Now, friends, for mercy's sake, keep motionless 
 And silent ! 
 {Tell shoots; and a shout of exultation bursts from the crowd ) 
 Ver. {Hushing in wiih Albert.) Thy boy is safe ! no 
 
 hair of him is touched ! 
 Alh. Father, I'm safe!— your Albert's safe! Dear 
 father, 
 Speak to me ! speak to mo I 
 
 Ver. He cannot, boy ! 
 Open his vest, and give him air. 
 {Albei-t opens hiji father's vest, and an arrow drops- Tell 
 staiis fixes Jm eyes on Albert, and clasps him to his breast ) 
 2 ell. My boy ! my boy ! 
 Ges. For what 
 Hid you that arrow iu your breast ? Speak, slave I 
 
 Tell. To kill tlice, tyrant, had I slain my boy i 
 Liberty "' " 
 
 Would, at thy downfall, shout from every peak i 
 My country then were free ! 
 
 Xni.-TELL TO HIS NATIVE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 (knowles.) 
 
 Ye crags and peaks, I'm with you once again ! 
 
 I hold to you the hands you fust beheld, " 
 
 To show they still are free. Methinks I hear 
 
 A spirit in your echoes answer me, 
 
 And bid your tenant welcome to his home 
 
 Again !— sacred forms, how proud you look i 
 
 How high you lift your heads into the sky i 
 
 How huge you are, how mighty, and how free i 
 
 Ye are the things that tower, that shine; wliose smile 
 
 Makes glad- whose frown is terrible; whose forms, 
 
 Kobed or unrobed, do all the impress wear 
 
 Of awe divine. Ye guards of liberty 
 
rmx TO 11,3 NATIVE MOUNTAINS. 
 
 To =1,0. .Ctm '^'i:' zX' '" ^""• 
 Sfrt^o?irtrs-»"» 
 
 Of memuring tho ample ran^^ beneath 
 
 And think the land Avas free. Yes it\v!.f 
 
 Wy pTesenee of the reg:!:""' "' "'"" 
 
 Uow happy was I then I I UveJ 
 
 its very storms. Yes, I h.-,ve often sat 
 
 T a ste^o'^kntr ""r "' '"« '"t- 
 
 AJy the mountain blast, I've laid mpVv i 
 And While gnst followed ^i! "i teonlr"' 
 
 Th\;^rfhr„ffJt:.''-r^.«'*. * 
 
 Aresu„,meT,,a;™to\Lfe":f;Z?rS'"""' 
 
 303 
 
 I* 
 
304 UKNKY VIM, AJ^D A.VNK nOLKYN. 
 
 IlavcwisliL'l mo thcro ; — tlio thought that mine wns frco 
 Hofl cliccked that wish ; and I have raised my head, 
 And cried in tliraldom that furious wind, 
 Blow on ! This la tho land of liberty 1 
 
 XIV.-HENEY Vin. AND ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 (W. 8. LANDOB.) 
 SciMB IS TUB TowiR. — Amnb Boletn and a CoNSTAntK <^tht Tcitft. 
 
 Anne Boleyn. Is your liege ill, sir, that you look so 
 anxious] 
 
 Constable of the Tower, Madam ! 
 
 A nne, I would not ask what you may wish 
 To keep a secret from mo ; but indeed 
 This right, I think, is left me ; I would know 
 If my poor husband is quite well to-day. 
 
 Constable. Pardon mo, gracious lady ! what can prompt 
 To this inquiry 1 
 
 Anne. I have now my secret. 
 
 Constable. I must report all questicms, sayings, doings, 
 Movements, and looks of yours. His Highness may 
 Be ruffled at this eagerness to ask 
 About his health. 
 
 Anne. I am used to ask about it. 
 Besides, he may remember — 
 
 Constable. For your Higlmess 
 
 Gladly will I remind our sovran lord 
 Of any promise. 
 
 Anne. Oh, no! do not that ! 
 
 It would incense him : he muilu only one, 
 And Heaveii alone that heard him must rem.ind l.iia 
 Last night, I do suspect, but am not sure. 
 He scarcely was what kings and husbands should l>a 
 A little wine has great effect upon 
 Warm hearts (and Henry's heart was very warm) 
 - ■;' r; on strong resentments : I do fear 
 5tf ^\:ifi thr,-it too. Uut all his friends must love hira. 
 
■m: 
 
 '"•'"" ^■"•"^OAmKBOI.EVN. 
 
 Fafi:;''''- """^ •' I '■'™™ '" tell you. w„„„ .!„„ „,„, . 
 
 My darling i my EJizfhoH , ","^ '^ "'^'"' 
 
 CW..aW.. Safe 1 " ^^^' ''*' ^^^^^^^^^ 
 Such as v™,,' 'f' '""' P'wnt <&^ vius 
 
 I would lay do"™ 2 7"" ■"•"""'l ho'-. 
 
 te?:r:!f,o;:fr''"-™-'« 
 
 Would mtoglo w hS! .1 'T "' '"'■''" 
 
 ^on.toW.. ^^''^'«'r constable! 
 Heaven's joys lie dose before you "^ ''"''" ' 
 
 Few days, I know, are left mf" H^"" T^ ' 
 All into one all n, rl n ' *^'*^^ ^^^^ nielt 
 
 No star'«T' f f' ^" Pe''iceable: 
 
 »)A 
 
 «f| 
 
 
 if 
 
 To crush the chila that 
 
 trco 
 
 (8C) 
 
 sits upon its bouf-h 
 20 
 
306 
 
 HKNRY Vlir. AND ANNE BOLEYN. 
 
 And looks abroad, too tender for suspicion, 
 Too happy even for hope, malcer of happiness. 
 I could weep too, not sinfully, at this. 
 Thou knowest, my God, thou surely knowest 
 "lis no repining at thy call or will. 
 
 (Constable, on his knees presents the Writ of Execution.) 
 I can do nothing now. Take back that writing, 
 And tell them so, poor souls ! Say to the widow, 
 I grieve, and can but grieve for her ; persuade her 
 That children, although fatherless, are blessings ; 
 And teach those little ones, if e'er you see theui, 
 Tliey are not half so badly off as some. 
 Fold up the paper ; put it quite aside ; 
 I am no queen ; I liave no almoner. 
 Ah, now I weep indeed ! Put, put it by. 
 Many— I grieve (yet, shordd I grieve V) to think it, 
 RIany will often say, when I am gone, 
 They once had a young queen to pity them. 
 Nay, though I mentioned I had nought to give, 
 Yet dash not on your head, nor grapple so 
 With those ungentle hands, while I am here, 
 A helpless widow's innocent petition. 
 Smooth it ; return it with all courtesy : 
 Smooth it, I say again : frame some khid words. 
 And see they find their place, then tender it. 
 What ! in this manner gentlemen of birth 
 Present us papers ? turn they thus away, 
 Putting their palms between their eyes and us ? 
 Sir ! I was queen— and you were kind unto me 
 When I was queen no longer : why so changed ? 
 Give it— but what is now my signature ? 
 Ignorant are you, or incredulous. 
 That not a clasp is left me 1 not a stone, 
 The vilest ; not chalcedony, not agate. 
 Promise her all my dresses, when— no, no— 
 I am grown superstitious ; they might bring 
 Misfortune on her, having been Anne Boleyn's. 
 
 Constable. Lady ! I wish this scroll could suffocate 
 My voice. One order I must disobey, — 
 To place it in your liand and mark you read it. 
 
Execution.) 
 
 
 it, 
 
 HENRY Vin. AND Am,: 1.0LKVN 
 
 J Jc"ow it ere I read ,> if V? ' ^'^'^ ^* ^'^ J 
 Because it hihH ' "*= ^ ""^^^ Jt 
 
 Constable {aside). Her mmrVo t . 
 Alas, she smiles \ '"^"d s distraught / 
 
 ■Anne. mK„ 
 
 Heury Wes courage helwn? ^'"^ ^^^" "^^'^ ^ 
 ^"i- this ; althonSr T 'J . " ^''''' '"^ ''^^'d 
 And yet Lr^ fciful Im' T^^'x.*'''-^" ^ ^'^^^ J 
 To give me bn7 tl? ^'^ '^ ^(^^vm, 
 
 g^ en^e but thus much for her smW sake; 
 
 S07 
 
 Fooate 
 
308 
 
 EVIDENCE OF SAM. WELLEU IN THE 
 
 SECTION YI.-COMIC. 
 
 I— EVIDENCE OP SAM. WELLER IN THE TEIAL OF 
 BARBELL v. PICKWICK. 
 
 (dickens.) 
 
 Judge. Call Samuel Weller, Wliat's your name, sir ? 
 
 Samuel. Sam Weller, my lord. 
 
 Judge. Do you spell it with a "v" or with a " w" ? 
 
 Sam. That depends upon the taste and fancy of the speller, 
 my lord ; I never had occasion to spell it more than once 
 or twice in my life, but I spells it with a "v." 
 
 Voice. Quite right too, Samivel, quite right ; put it down a 
 "we," my lord, put it down a "we." 
 
 Judge. Who is that that dares to address the court ? Usher. 
 
 Usher. Yes, my lord. 
 
 Judge. Bring that person here instantly ? 
 
 Usiier. Yes, my lord. 
 
 Judge to Sam. Do you know who that was, ml 
 
 Sam. I rayther suspect it wur my father, my lord. 
 
 Judge. Do you see him here now 1 
 
 Sam. No. I don't, my lord, (looking straight up into the 
 gas). 
 
 Judge. If you could have pointed him out, I would have 
 committed him instantly. 
 
 Counsellor Buzfuz. Now, ]\Ir. Weller. 
 
 Sam. Now, sir, {howing). 
 
 Buz. I believe you are in the service of Mr. Pickwick, 
 the defendant in this case. Speak up, if you please, Mr. 
 Weller. 
 
 Sam. I mean to speak up, sir. I am in the ser^'ice of 
 that ere gen'l'man, and a wery good serviiie it is. 
 
 Buz. Little to do, and plenty to get, 1 suppose. 
 
e sen'ice of 
 
 TniAL OF BARDELL V. riCKWiCK. 
 
 •^«^^f7e. You must not 7p1 1 ^^^^''''^^e«- 
 
 other man said; it t n"ot et denT ''* "^^ '^'''^^ - -^ 
 ^-«.Werygood,myJord "'• 
 
 |!- ^rS^ar;^^^^^^^^^^^ happening on 
 
 Ell! J\Ir. Wdler? ^''^ '""''^^'^d by the defendant J 
 
 ^a7n. Yes, I do, sir. 
 
 ■"ft «e„T,ne„ „• the j.nyXu ,a / ''""''^ "'"' ™ n^™" 
 ou lur. rickwick said af n,r, +• 
 
 femting on the part of 2 ptb<fff"''T,^''^^^"^ «^" '^^^^ 
 defendant, which you hav hea^d i '\*^' f™« ^^ ^^^ 
 flesses? ^"^^ ^^a™ descnbed by the wit- 
 
 ^'ctm. Certainly not. I was in f ),. r, 
 «^e "P. and t],on t].e old ad^ wLt?«:''^"' "^^ "^^^ ^'-^^^^'^ 
 
 f ^^^. Kow attend, Mr. Wd^ vl '• • 
 and yet saw nothing of w at ^nl '"'''/" ^he passage, 
 you a pair of eyes, Mn WeJie!? ^'^"° ^''"^"''^"J- Hate 
 
 the/ wuJr'pair'f ^^ d' T' '"' "^^*'« J««t it. If 
 Microscopes o^ hol!^^;^^^^^ 
 
 hro' a flight 0' stairs and a dea Soor l')'u' f ^^« '' '^^ 
 you see, my M'ision's limited ' ^""^ '^'^"^ "^iy ^«. 
 
 ^«z. Now, Mr. Weller I'll u.^. 
 point, if you please. ' ' ^'''" * *l"e8tion on another 
 
 ^am. If you please, sir. 
 
 ^ComK^rr '^^ ^^'"^ "P *o Mrs. Bardell'a house 
 
 in 
 
 'Sa7n. yes, wery welJ. 
 
 ■Suz. 
 
 we 
 
 should br 
 
 you do 
 
 ID.? you 
 
 remember 
 
 something 
 
 Mr.WeI]er;we]J,rthoi 
 
 at last, 
 
 iinht 
 
810 
 
 MR. GREGSBURY AND NICHOLAS NICKLEBV. 
 
 ,!l 
 
 (S'ant. I rayther thought that too, sir. 
 
 Buz. Well, I suppose you went up to have a talk about 
 the trial— eh, Mr. Wellerl 
 
 Sam. I went up to pay the rent, but we did get a talking 
 about the trial. 
 
 Buz. ! you did get a talking about the trial. Now what 
 passed about the trial ? Will you have the goodness to tell 
 us, Mr. Weller? 
 
 Sam. With all the pleasure in life, sir. After a few un- 
 important obserwations from the two wirtuous females, as 
 has been examined here to-day, the ladies gets into a wery 
 great state o' admiration at the honourable conduct of Mr. 
 Dodson and Fogg, them two gen'l'men as is settiu' near you 
 now. 
 
 Buz. The attorneys for the ])laintifr,— well, they spoke in 
 high praise of the honourable conduct of Messrs. Dodson 
 and Fogg, the attorneys for the plaintiif, did ^liey? 
 
 Sam. Yes; they said wot a wery gen'rc u tiling it wur 
 o' them to have taken up the case on spec, and to charge 
 uothin' at all for costs, unless they got 'em out o' Mr. Pick- 
 wick. 
 
 Buz. to Judge. You are quite right, my lord. It is per- 
 fectly useless attempting to get any evidence through the 
 impenetrable stupidity of this witness. I will not trouble 
 the court by asking any more questions. Stand down, sir 
 {to Sam.) 
 
 Sam. Would any other gpu'l'man like to ask me anything 1 
 
 n.-MR. GREGSBURY AND NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 
 
 (DICKEK3.) 
 Mr. Qregsbubt Is a Member of Purliament, in want of a sccrelaiy. 
 
 Nicholas. I brought this card from the General Agency 
 Office, sir, wishing to offer myself as your secretary. 
 
 Mr. Gregshury. You have no connection with any of those 
 rascally newspapers, have youl 
 
 N. I have no connection, I am sorry to say, with anything 
 at pvofiPtit, 
 
 Mr, G. Well. Now, what can you do? 
 
otot.lZlZZ:' ' "" '» "''"' --"^ * to the ,„, 
 ^'■- ft Wliafs that! 
 
 ^i-- ft Good. ''^ume, correspondence. 
 
 i^;^ft"™i™r'' "'■'"''"'""'' ■'-"'■-'«. 
 anfpo»srS'';;!;ro;t^™''"««-^ 
 
 journal, when you have!"'/"'"' 'f""* <■"■■ "'"no puW J 
 portance. ^ ""^' "«'« »»= «* n.oro than usuil im' 
 
 -^. Keally r am not ablp nf f ^ • 
 ^-^ny other duty of a sL otail bev""?:;^' ^^ ^•'-^'-'^^^■^••^''^t^ 
 "taking himself as agreeable wJ?' ^'"'"''^ °"« "^ 
 
 he can, consistently ^v th hTs ' "''^"^ ^^ '^'« ^"'P^oyer a« 
 out overstepping tlla J^e of d r.'Tf f "^^^' ^^"^ -i^^' 
 Perform, and which th dCic^^'Z'' /f • ^^' ""^'^^^''^^^^ ^o 
 understood to imply ""'"'Snation of h,3 office is usually 
 
 |lJlj;;;;;^^^"^'^'^-"'^^--i^at is your name? 
 fo^:;,SfIr':si:;l!!7, "f' .^ • ^-kkhy. and very 
 
 ^^''a?' '^'"^ ^° crammed, sir. 
 ,„™;,^"^ I be^your pardon a^ain, if I ,•„,„,, ,,^, ^.„„ 
 
 the world, as it is ,„,„" .^^'^ » f f f "'o foreign poU^j, Jf 
 eye over all ace^nnt? „f n.^l I ""."""■'P'lPers; to run hi, 
 a"<i reports of t>::t::l^:^Zlu^) »;i ''■-'■'», artielt 
 
 fj'icstion 
 
 a 
 
 petitii 
 
 you 
 
 "on Jymgon the tnhL ' , '"'' fi"cstion of 
 
 understand? ^'' "^' ''"^'"''"= -^' tiiut kind. 
 
 JDo 
 
f ' 
 
 312 
 
 MR. GREGSBURY AND NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 
 
 iV^. I think I do, sir. 
 
 Mr. G. Then it would be necessary for him to make him- 
 self acquainted from day to day with newspaper paragraphs 
 on passing events— such as, " Mysterious disappearance, and 
 supposed suicide of a pot-boy," or anything of that sort, upon 
 which I might found a question to the Secretary of State 
 for the Home Department. Then he would have to copy 
 the question, and as much as I remembered of the answer 
 (including a little compliment about my independence and 
 good sense), and to send the MS, in a frank to the local 
 paper, with, perhaps, half a dozen lines of leader to the 
 effect that I was always to be found in my place in Parlia- 
 ment, and never shrunk from the discharge of my responsible 
 and arduous duties, and so forth. You sec ? 
 N. (Bou's.) 
 
 Mr. G. Besides which, I should expect him now and then 
 to go through a few figures in the piinted tables, and to pick 
 out a few results, so that I might come out pretty well on 
 timber-duty questions, and finance questions, and so on ; 
 and I should like him to get up a few little arguments about 
 the disastrous effects of a return to cash payments and a 
 metallic currency, with a touch now and then about the 
 exportation of bullion, and the Emperor of Russia, and bank 
 notes, and all that kind of thing, which it's only necessary 
 to talk fluently about, because nobody understands 'em. Do 
 you take mel 
 
 If. I think I understand. 
 
 Mr. G. With regard to such questions as are not political, 
 and which one can't be expected to care a screw about, 
 beyond the natural care of not allowing inferior people to 
 be as wen off as ourselves— else, where are our privileges?— 
 I should wish my secretary to get together a few little 
 flourishing speeches of a patriotic cast. For instance, if any 
 preposterous bill were brought forward for giving poor 
 grubbing wretches of authors a right to their own property, 
 I should like to say that I for one would never consent to 
 opposing an insurmountable bar to the diflusion of litera- 
 ture among the 2;eo^;?e— you understand?— that the creations 
 of the pocket, being man's, might belong to one man or one 
 family ; but that the creations of the brain, being God s, 
 
MR. OREGSBUKY AND NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. 313 
 
 of the chief things you'd have tol,?™pt « utt'ir 
 hand to his fece amlhilZ^ , */\^^ g^°"eman, Avith his 
 
 ^. F,fleen shaimgs a week is not much. 
 
 yo»gLt'«Setsi;;f,f„r;- "'"'"' " '''-' -' ■"-■• 
 
 i\^. Pray do not suppose that I quarrel witli thp «n,r, r 
 
 bilities make i,he recompeme sS .nH r '"'' ^P"""'- 
 haavythatlfeartouuZTaketS' ' """^ '"'" '° "'•' 
 
 accept I'i'lace' a"ud" «*t": '" "^ "',"' ^™ '"^^ '»"'- "<>' 
 wocll too litHpT-L " " y™ <:"n««ler fifteen shilhugs a 
 «oclc too little (;-my»i, W^. Do you decline it, sii- J 
 
rv 
 
 314 COLONEL DIVER AND MARTIN CUUZZLEWIT. 
 
 N. I have no alternative but to do so. 
 
 Mr. G. Door, Matthews. 
 
 JV. I am sorry I have tronbled you unnecessarily, sir. 
 
 Mr. G. I am sorry you have. Door, Matthews. 
 
 N. Good morning. 
 
 Mr. G. Door, Matthews. 
 
 ni.— COLONEL DIVER AND MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. 
 
 (mOEENS.) 
 
 llARTiN Chuzzlbwit hBS just arrived In New YoiU by an emlKrant ship, when 
 ho becomes acquainted witli Colonel Diver, tlie proprietor of a newspaper. 
 
 Colonel Diver. What is your name? 
 
 Martin Chuzzlewit. Martin Chuzxlewit. 
 
 C. D. My name is Colonel Diver, sir. I am the editor 
 of the " New York Rowdy Journal," sir. The " New York 
 Rowdy Journal" is, as I expect you know, the organ of oui 
 aristocracy in our city. 
 
 M. G. Oh, there is an aristocracy here, then? Of what is 
 it composed? 
 
 C. D. Of intelligence, sir— of intelligence and virtue ; and 
 of their necessary consequence in this republic— c?o//ars, sir. 
 You have heard of Jefferson Brick, my war correspondent, 
 sir? England has heard of Jefferson Brick, — Europe has 
 heard of Jefferson Brick. Let me see. When did you leave 
 England, sir? 
 
 M. G. Five weeks ago. 
 
 G. D. Five weeks ago ! Now, let me ask you, sir, which 
 of Mr. Brick's articles had become at that time the most 
 obnoxious to the British Parliament and the Court of St. 
 James's. 
 
 M. G. Upon my word, I— I — 
 
 G. D. I have reason to know, sir, that the aristocratic 
 circles of your country quail before the name of Jefi'erson 
 Brick. I should like to be informed, sir, which of his senti- 
 ments has struck the deadliest blow at the bundi'ed head3 
 of the hydra of corruj)tion now grovelling in the dust be- 
 
udi'ed liead;^ 
 
 COI.OKEI mvm. Am maktw CHumBwiT 3,5 
 
 saw tlie " Rowdy Journal " sir H^ff I ' f ^"'^ ''^''^' 
 
 OB m t ™ "''""' '" "''"«"•''. certainly 
 •.-an oivi,i.„,i„;„,t,",t:, J;:;.™-' "-'. ■" the van „f 
 
 MG Tn^ '°''fP?'"l«" I'cre, 8ir; „ do a, we like. 
 
 -^/. C. Nigger slavery itself. 
 O. D, En— tirely so, 
 
 I otaen'e'in" H ™^ ' ""T" '" '»''• '^"l' "fwcco to a case 
 Riving offe-ri' " :;» '°/' ;";' '", ^f n-« i' with„„t 
 
 ?>^ Y'^l' f • '*~'*^ '^""' ""^^' ""d tl.eii. 
 
 C' i" :^rv ' r^""/^' insti-ucte^,- what do ti.ey do? 
 
 air a srnai people here aud can appreciate smartness. 
 r n IV 7T'''' ^'"'"^^° for fonjenj 1 
 
 If 
 
,t 
 
 Ut^^V 
 
 816 
 
 COLONKL mVER AND MAUTIN ClWZZLVAVVr. 
 
 C. D. At all events, whatever name wo choose to employ, 
 I Bui)poso the art of forgery was not invented here, eirl 
 
 M. G. I suppose not. 
 
 C. D. Nor any other kind of smartness, I reckon. 
 
 M. C. Invented ! no, I suppose not. 
 
 C. D. Well, tlien, we got it all fiOin the old country, and 
 the old country's to blame for it, and not the new one. 
 There's an end of that. An' how's tlio uuint'~ral old 
 parent by this time? Progressin' back'ards, I expect, as 
 usiial. And how's Queen Victoria? 
 
 M. C. In good health, I believe. 
 
 C. D. Queen Victoria will not sliake in her royal shoes a^ 
 all, when she hears to-morrow named. No. 
 
 M. C. Not that I am aware of. Why should she? 
 
 C. D. She won't be taken with a cold chill when slio 
 realizes what is being done in these diggings. No. 
 
 M. C. No ; I til ink I may be pretty sure of that. 
 
 C. D. Well, sir, I tell you this — Tliere aint a Cn— ginewith 
 its biler bust in this glorious, free United States, so fixed 
 and nipped and frizzled to a most e— tarnal smash as that 
 young critter, in her luxurious lo— cation ii. Jie Tower of 
 London, will be, when she reads the next double extra 
 " Rowdy Journal." 
 
 M. G. Well, I must say that I never heard of Queen 
 Victoria reading the what-d'ye-call-it-journal, and I should 
 scarcely think it probable. 
 
 C. D. It is sent to her, sir. It is sent to her— per mail. 
 
 M. G. But if it is addressed to the Tower of London, 
 it would hardly come to hand, I fear; for she don't live 
 there. 
 
 G. D. I have always remarked that it is a very extraor- 
 dinary circumstance, which I impute to the natur' of British 
 institootions, and their tendency to suppress tliat popular 
 inquiry and information which air so widely diffused even 
 in the trackless forests of the vast continent of the Western 
 Ocean ; that the knowledge of Britishers on such points is 
 not to be compared to that possessed by our in— telligent and 
 locomotive citizens. This is interesting, and confirms my 
 observation. When you say, sir, that your queen does not 
 reside in the Tower of London, you fall into an error not 
 
IT. 
 
 to employ, 
 re, sir 1 
 
 on. 
 
 )imtry, and 
 
 } new QUO. 
 
 t'— ral old 
 
 exi)cct, aa 
 
 al slioes a^ 
 
 ihe? 
 
 when slio 
 o. 
 it. 
 
 — ginewith 
 !S, so fixed 
 ,3h as that 
 I Tower of 
 uble extra 
 
 of Queen 
 d I shouUl 
 
 per mail, 
 f London, 
 don't live 
 
 ry extraor- 
 of British 
 it popular 
 used even 
 e Western 
 I points is 
 lligent and 
 nfirms my 
 n does not 
 error not 
 
 THE MOST HORRIBLE BATTLE. 317 
 
 »ir, you air wro.,.. • ° ,„ Z' K ',,"""'","' '''"'I'""- 'i"* 
 
 i» at the Court of St^'l t^V o7 couTr ''^1 1i T'l ""' 
 tion was n Windsor P-ivilinn u , ^"^^ ^^ ^^^^ ^oca- 
 
 the san.e tin,o Your^^^^^^^^ l\T^'\ "^' ""' "' I^«"^I-" at 
 in the immediate nei"hboXod nVv" "' "l"' ^''"''^ ^"'^'''^ 
 your triumphant ardreno"rn-^^"!i' ''"'^'' ^''''' ^'■'^««' 
 nat-rallyL^^gesSC^^^^^^^^ 
 
 -a^thoughtless court, and .oJs^J^!^^'^^:-^^ 
 M. a Have you been in England ? 
 
 formation aLngrhee th^wiU '^'"' ''''^ ^"^'^ i'^" 
 \r r r x. : V ^^ ^^"' surprise vou sir 
 
 M. a I have not the least doubt of it. ' 
 
 IV.-THE MOST HORRIBIE BATTLE. 
 
 (W. IKVINO.) 
 
 therebl PrepIrl^toTat ft^^^^ -"-ted 
 
 writer of the Stuyvcsant manuscrin^ P ?' '^^' "''^ 
 stood on stilts. The world W f? ~~ ^^P^^ '-^^lon now 
 stood still, thatitmildr^WtnSe nff"''' n""^' ""^^^'^^ 
 
 obtruded thf saIvS W wt "';":r°""'y *"* that 
 -M not .et L^ r^r 1S1"LS?,,S 
 
318 
 
 THE MOST irOIlRTBr.K RATTT.K. 
 
 eventful field. The immortal deities who M'hilom had fioon 
 service at the "ufiair" of Tri»y— now mmiiitod their foathcr- 
 bt'd clouds, and fitiilcd over the jdain, or inin^lcd ainon;,' the 
 combatants in ditlercnt disj^aiisea, all itcliinj,' to have a 
 finger in the i»io. Jupiter sent oflf liLs thunderbolt to a 
 noted coiii»er8niith, to have it furbished up f(jr the direful 
 occasion. The noted bully, Mars, stuck two horse-pistols 
 into his belt, shouldered a rusty firelock, and gallantly 
 swaggered along as a driuikcn corporal ; while Apollo trudged 
 in the rear, as a bandy-legged filer, playing most villanously 
 out of tune. 
 
 On the other side, the ox-eyed Juno, who had gained a 
 pair of black eyes over night, in one of her curtain lectures 
 with old Jui)iter, displayed her haughty beauties on a 
 baggage-waggon. Minerva, as a brawny gin-suttler, tucked 
 up her skirts, brandished her fists, and swore most heroic- 
 ally, in exceeding bad Dutch (having but lately studied the 
 language), by way of keeping up the spirits of the soldiers; 
 while Vulcan halted as a club-footed blacksmith, lately pro- 
 moted to be a captain of militia. All was silent horror, or 
 bustling preparation: War reared his horrid front, gnashed 
 loud his iron fangs, and shook his direful crest of bristling 
 bayonets. And now the mighty chieftains marshalled out 
 their hosts. Here stood stout Risingh, firm as a thousand 
 rocks— incrusted v/ith stockades, and intrenched to the chin 
 in mud batteries. His artillery consisted of two swivels 
 and a carronade, loaded to the muzzle, the touch-holes 
 primed, and a whiskered bombardier stationed at each, with 
 lighted match in hand, waiting the word. His valiant 
 infantry lined the breast-work in grim array, each having 
 his mustaches fiercely greased, and his hair pomatumed 
 back, and queued so stiffly, that he grinned above the ram- 
 parts like a grisly death's head. 
 
 Then came on the intrepid Peter— his brows knit, his 
 teeth set— his fists clenched— almost breathing forth volumes 
 of smoke, so fierce was the fire that raged within his bosom. 
 His faithful squire, Van Corlear, trudged valiantly at his 
 heels, with his trumpet gorgeously bedecked with red and 
 yellow ribands, the remembrances of his fair mistresses at 
 the Manhattocs. Then came waddling on the sturdy chivalry 
 
TICK MOST FrouuiBLK UATTLB. 
 
 -.., „ , 319 
 
 " "••'"I'^l of wroth un.l cabbafjo 1 '• 
 
 Purallelod satiHfactioi, wl,i o cM^.7 ,, /• "''''''^ *''" """ 
 in the service of thd'cotrv^rf'"'^'^^^ '"* ^^"^ 
 
 -ein« their nuu.;^ wS^i^l ll^ t"i;^'^r""'" '"'' ''' 
 handed down, i„ conipanv wit „ 11 f i ^ f ^ ''""''"' '^"^ 
 the year, for he aduuSaXld;; ^ pLrLT" '' 
 to them, on the word of a governor (]^ru{ f i . ^' "^ ^'^"'"^ 
 well to doubt it for a moTentTtin M ^^^ 
 mother's son of tiiem In,^;., i '^ ^'"^ '^''""''t any 
 
 would curry ]a,^lS„7,tir^ "' ^'^'^"'= ^^'^^'^^^ ^o 
 snake in spring-th^.e Tit W' "/-"" '"^ ^^ ^*' '^^« « 
 
 hrandished it three ti,n!ro!pf/"^°"'/"' trusty sabre, he 
 lear to sound a tremendo ' T ' ^''^1''' '"^'^^^ ^^^ ^or- 
 
 "St. Nicholas^i7t S „ S ''"'"' '"" ""'' 
 forward. His warliko fi.?) , <^«i"-«geousIy dH.shed 
 
 interval in I d.Iin tlfr , '''' .''^^" ^^^^^ ^^P^^y^'d the 
 
 their mouthi it^ t oLTm;; ""'^ ^^"'"^ ''^^^ i" 
 under cover of the smoir A ? ' ""'^ '^'^'^''^ gallantly. 
 <lin, the destrae^ttL.^f^^ 
 
 frantic desperTtLt thl'^Lt aTd's'S T'^* ^^'^ 
 war. Dutchmin n„.i Q 1 selt-abaudonment of 
 
 and bIo?ed tI h te^strrrr'^^^'i^^' *"^"^^^' P^^^d, 
 missives. Ban" went ^h' T '?'",^'^ "^'^^^ ^ ^^^^P^^^t of 
 swords-thump^f" Si ttl^ li'T""^^"'^-' ^^^^k the broad- 
 
 ket-stocks3ws-1^^ek;-:;;^^^^^^ r**'^° ^- 
 
 hloody noses swelling tL ho^~S:i''~^^^''^'^ ^^^^ ^'^'^ 
 tliwack,cut and hack hel/pr S , ? ,*^' '''"' ' ^hick- 
 l-rly, head otrtdf ±^ll^'^^^ 
 
 rough and tui Me!— D; 
 
 '■'eAawi swore tlie Dutehnipn «. taj. T '-^•■"■'•-^ aud 
 
 Shouted Ilardkopig Peter- 
 
^fi 
 
 S20 
 
 theeb's nothing in it. 
 
 Fire the mine ! roared stout Risingh— Tantararara ! twanged 
 the trumpet of Anthony Van Corlear— until all voice and 
 sound became unintelligible— grunts of pain, yells of fury 
 and shouts of triumph, commingled in one hideous clamour. 
 The earth shook, as if struck with a paralytic stroke— trees 
 shrunk aghast, and withered at the sight— rocks burrowed 
 in the ground like rabbits,— and even Christina Creek 
 turned from its course, and ran up a mountain in breath- 
 less terror! 
 
 V.-THEEE'S NOTHING IN IT. 
 
 (MATTHEWS.) 
 
 Sir Charles Coldstream and Sir Adonis Leech. 
 
 Sir Charles. My dear Leech, you began life late— you are a 
 young fellow— forty-five— and have the world yet before 
 you. I started at thirteen, lived quick, and exhausted the 
 whole round of pleasure before I was thirty. I've tried 
 everything, heard everytliing, done everything, know every- 
 thing, and here I am, a man at thirty-three, literally used up. 
 
 Leech. Nonsense, man! — used up, indeed! — with your 
 wealth, with your little heaven in Spring Gardens, and your 
 paradise here at Kingston - upon - Thames, — with twenty 
 estates in the sunniest spots in England — not to mention 
 that Utopia, within four walls, in the Hue de Provence, in 
 Paris. Oh, the nights I've spent there ! 
 
 Sir C. I'm dead with ennui. 
 
 Leech. Ennui ! hear him ! poor Croesus ! 
 
 Sir C. Croesus !— no, I'm no Croesus. My father— you've 
 seen his portrait, good old fellow— he certainly did leave me 
 a little matter of ,£12,000 a j-^ear ; but after all— 
 
 Leech. Oh, come ! — 
 
 Sir G. Oh, I don't complain of it. 
 
 Leech. I should think not. 
 
 Sir C. Oh no ; there are some people who can manage to 
 do on less — on credit. 
 
 Leech. I know several— My dear Coldstream, you should 
 try change of scene. 
 
 Sir C. I have tried it— what's the use ? 
 
THERE'S NOTHING IN it. 
 
 321 
 
 about eve,^thing-tt~tS:,"'™-'>^°P'« -^'o „„eh 
 
 "Id what then ? °"' ' ™ '™'' " "w and over Li.. 
 
 '-Ik so muei, aCt"&;'''"°!!''°''*'<'''*' People 
 "ow-r™„rt, very round a »2r'''™"^ ""^ OohsZm 
 dwppomted with it , Capfol , "'"J"™*-*, but I w« 
 
 ".2^\«SPetertrCjr ™^' *'" - ^e n. 
 -ha^U^'^;:- «/»Waut "..-but if we wanted 
 
 opera. TheAo4 'ii^eTp to" V:*™*"^' »"" Soodi.h 
 ^oked a good deal, cer?ainlv h?'?-" '""■■■« b"™ i 
 "ountain ; .aw tl«'e S^l^^'^^''^ »""«ether a wre.che 
 nothing m it """ed down, but there was 
 
 ^^^«/^ BuitJiebay? 
 j'' \- Jnferior to Dublin 
 
 Sir a A 
 
 (86) 
 
 iiipagha. 
 great swamp! 
 
 ! i 
 
 li: 
 
 2J 
 
% 
 
 
 n22 
 
 THE AUT OF BOOK-KEF.rTNG. 
 
 Leech. Greece? 
 
 Sir C. A morass ! 
 
 Leech. Athens? 
 
 Sir C. A bad Edinburgh ! 
 
 Leech. Egypt? 
 
 Sir C. A desert ! 
 
 Leech. The Pyramids? 
 
 Sir C. Humbugs !— nothing in any of them ! Have done 
 —you bore me. 
 
 Leech. But you enjoyed the hours we spent in Paris, at 
 any rate ? 
 
 SirC. No ; I was dying for excitement. In fact, I've no 
 appetite, no thirst ; everything wearies me— no, they fatigue 
 me. 
 
 Leech. Fatigue you !— I should think not, indeed ; you arc 
 as strong as a lion. 
 
 Sir G. But as quiet as a Iamb— that was Tom Cribb's 
 character of me : you know I was a favourite pupil of his. 
 I'd give a thousand pounds for any event that would make 
 my pulse beat ten to the minute faster. Is it possible that 
 you cannot invent something that would make my blood 
 boil in my veins— my hair stand on end— my heart beat— 
 my pulse rise—that would produce an excitement— an 
 omotion— a sensation ? 
 
 VI.— THE ART OF BOOK-KEEPING. 
 
 (nooD.) 
 
 How hard, when those who do not wish to lend, less lose, 
 
 their books, 
 Are snared by anglers— folks that fish with literary Hooks— 
 Who call and take some favourite tome, but never read it 
 
 through ; 
 They thus complete their set at home, by making one at you. 
 
 I, of my "Spenser" quite bereft, last winter soro was 
 
 shaken ; 
 Of " Lamb" Pve but a quarter left, nor could I save my 
 
 " Bacon ;" 
 
THE ART OF BOOK-KRKPINo. 323 
 
 And then I saw mv "OrflT^Tio" „* i x ,., 
 
 ward go; ^ ^^^^' '^* ^*«*' ^^^e Hamlet, back- 
 And, hs the tide wacs pKii;„n, ^ i « 
 
 "Kowe." '^^'°S ^^^^'' °f course I lost my 
 
 My "Mallet" served to knock me rinw. i.- . 
 
 thus a talker; '^'''^' ^^'^h makes me 
 
 And once, when I wiq nnf ^^ * 
 
 a "Walker" "" "^ '""• "^ "J»l>°son" proved 
 
 '™ih:'Se!' °'" ''^ '" ""^ '''■ -^ "Ho^^V a„a,. 
 They bo. „, .. c„,„„„» ,„„„ „^^_ ^^^ ^^^.^^ __^ _^^ 
 
 ^''Xf.Z "'°°''''" '» - f-. -»- than Bra.a„. 
 
 Tor though I iS he ™Sr°^:y -5 »»«' ^ 
 
 my "Steele." " "^a'-ng Siv^," as swiftly went 
 
 "So^j, not now upon nay shelf, where late he ..ood 
 J?ut what is strano-e mv " Pr,r.« » i • 
 
 My little "S„eM:'":;^i„ th'eVaCf '^uST"""'?''''- 
 ravage; ^ ^ ^^ ^^°^ ^^ swell the 
 
 And w^a^ «, CruBoe-a fate to .ave, ,w,s n,™ to ,o.,-a 
 
 been gone. '^^' ^^ B"nyan"has 
 
 "' It'^nlS."^""™"-"' '"'P«»<'^ -y "Taylor," 
 ^°"ZZ."''°'*'""-"f--«t, in va,-„ I Offered 
 
 ' " hfrontr*"- '"' """ ""' ^ "» "Hood" so late 
 ^"'^uUZTv'" """' '■""^•'•O' -"0- was »y 
 
!w4r|i«. ^ 
 
 324 
 
 GOODY GRIM V. LAPSTONE. 
 
 I tried to laugh, old care to tickle, yet could not "Tickle" 
 touch ; 
 
 And then, alack! I missed my "Mickle,"— and surely 
 Mickle's much. 
 
 'Tis quite enough my griefs to feed, my sorrows to excuse, 
 To think I cannot read my "Eeid," nor even use mv 
 "Hughes;" ^ 
 
 My classics would not quiet lie, a thing so fondly hoped; 
 Like Dr. Primrose, I may cry, my " Livy" has eloped. 
 
 My life is ebbing fast away,— I suifer from these shocks ; 
 And though I fixed a look on " Gray," there's gray upon' my 
 
 locks. 
 I'm far from " Young," am growingpale, Isee my " Butler "fly ; 
 And when they ask about my ail, 'tis "Burton," I reply. 
 
 They still have made me slight returns, and thus my griefs 
 divide ; 
 
 For 0, they cured me of my " Burns," and eased my " Aken- 
 
 side." 
 But all I think I shall not say, nor let my anger burn • 
 For, as they never found me " Gay," they have not left me 
 
 " Sterne." 
 
 '4k 
 
 VII.— GOODY GRIM v. LAPSTONE. 
 
 (smith. Mattheio$ " At Home.") 
 
 What a profound study is the law ! and how difficult to 
 fathom ! Well, let us consider the law ; for our laws are 
 very considerable, both in bulk and numbers ; according as 
 the statutes (iedBXQ—considerandi, considerando, consider- 
 andum— and are not to be meddled with by those who don't 
 understand them. 
 
 _ Law always expresses itself with true grammatical pre- 
 cision, never confounding moods, cases, or genders ; except, 
 indeed, when a woman happens accidentally to be slain, then 
 a verdict is always brought in, man-slaughter. Tlie essence 
 of the law is altercation ; for the law can altercate, ful- 
 minate, deprecate, irritate, and go on at any rate. " Your 
 son follows the law, I think. Sir Thomas?" '"Yea, madam- 
 
t "Tickle" 
 Tid surely 
 
 > excuse, 
 Q use nij* 
 
 hoped ; 
 iped. 
 
 bocks ; 
 ' upon my 
 
 utler"fly; 
 reply. 
 
 my griefs 
 
 y "Aken- 
 
 Lirn; 
 
 ot left me 
 
 ifficult to 
 laws are 
 ording as 
 consider- 
 vho don't 
 
 tical pre- 
 ; except, 
 ain, then 
 e essence 
 3ate, ful- 
 "Ymir 
 madam ; 
 
 GOUDy GRIM V. LAPSTO.VE. ggg 
 
 but I am afraid he wiU never overtake it : a man following 
 the law xs Lke two boys running round a table ; /I folwf 
 the law and the law follows Am." However f von nl 
 a^vay the whereofs, whereases, wherefore ; "ii ^ .twut 
 standings the whole mystery vanishes ; it is then pHn a u 
 simple. Now the quintessence of the aw has acco Sn '^^ 
 Its name five parts :-.the first is the begbnbg. or Se!^ 
 
 t1^d'■det:^'•/'^"'^"^^^^°^^' - c^^^fiiT^^" 
 
 endimi and fifthly, monslrum et horrendum : all which 
 aie cleaj-^y exemplified in the following case-GooDy Gptm 
 
 Xhf '"'''"'• .'''r *"^^ ^-PPened in a certain town 
 wh^h, for reasons shall be nameless, and is as follows ^' 
 Goody Grim inhabited an alms-house, No. 2; Cl L-ln 
 stone, a superannuated cobbler, lived in No. 3 ; and a certafn 
 
 tZrf \^^' ^'PP'°^^ '' ^^' through the town whe 
 those alms-houses were situated, could only think of numbe 
 One Goody Grim was in the act of killing one of her mvn 
 properp,g3.buttheanimal,dis^^^^ 
 
 Jewitn^cS hi^^^ 'V' Bemi-circular legs of L aforelS 
 .J ew— Knocked him m the mud— ran bark tn Wiu t 
 3toae,,tl;e cobbler, upset aquart boWe M of gin belt" ^ 
 to tte .a,d Lapstone, and took refuge m the SSSf 
 
 . te^ t'rdarfeu'o™ 7Z' *?,''""' ^" ^"" »' 
 ThevaUdp^ivt„J,i ?"' "f l"s pocket in de rencounter." 
 
 ss^dtttidi'tiLg-t^^^^^ 
 
 and bind over Mirdecai aj an evW^ce '""'' ^'""""' 
 
 The mdictment set forth, "That he. Lamton^ „„t ,„^r- 
 
 tm loar of the asB zes before his ev»« ^.„^ k ^ "»'U!S 
 
 m. and ins.iga.cd b, pruiL^r^iS t' tSX ol? 
 
326 
 
 QOODY GlilM V. LAPSrONE. 
 
 /) '• 
 
 April, a day sacred in the anuals of the la,w, steal, pocket, 
 hide, and crib, divers, that is to say, five hundred hogs, sows] 
 boars, pigs, and porkers, with curly tails ; and did secrete 
 the said five hundred hogs, sows, boars, pigs, and porkers, 
 with ciurly tails, in the said Lapstone'a bed, against the 
 peace of our Lady the Queen, her crown, and dignity." 
 
 Mordecai Avas examined by Counsellor Puzzle. 
 
 Fazzle. Well, sir, what are youl 
 
 Mordecai. I sells old clo' and sealing-vax and puckles. 
 
 F. I did not ask you what you sold ; I ask you what you 
 are? 
 
 I am about five and forty. 
 
 I did not ask your age ; I ask what you are ? 
 
 I am a Jew. 
 
 Why couldn't you tell me that at first 1 Well, then, 
 are a Jew, tell me what you Jciow of this 
 
 M. 
 P. 
 M. 
 P. 
 
 sir, if you 
 
 affair, 
 
 M. As I vas a valking along — 
 
 P. Man— I didn't want to know where you were walk- 
 ing. 
 
 M. Veil, veil, veil ! As I vas a valking along— 
 P. So you will walk along in spite of all that can be said. 
 M. Plesh ma heart, you frighten me out of ma vits— As I 
 vas a valking along, I seed de unclean animal coming tovards 
 me— and so, says I— Oh ! Father Abraham, says I— 
 P. Father Abraham, sir, is no evidence. 
 M. You must let me tell ma story ma own vay, or I cannot 
 tell it at all. As I vas a valking alon,g, I seed de unclean 
 animal coming tovards me— and so, says I— Oh, Father 
 Abraham, says I, here comes de unclean animal tovards me ; 
 and he nmned between ma legs, and upshet me in de mut. ' 
 P. Now, do you mean to say, upon your oath, that that 
 little animal had the power to upset you in the mud ? 
 M. I vill tak ma oash dat he upshet me in de mut. 
 And pray, sir, on what side did you fall 1 
 On de mutty side. 
 
 I mean on which of your own sides did you fall \ 
 I fell on ma left side. 
 
 P. 
 
 M. 
 P. 
 M. 
 
 P, Now, on your nath, was? it your left side ? 
 M. I vill tak ma oash it vas ma left side. 
 
OOODY GRIM V. LAPSTONK 
 
 327 
 
 j^^ Auil pray, what did you do when you foJl down? 
 M. I got up again as fast as I could. "^' ^°^^ " ' 
 
 J . Perhaps you could teU me whether the pig had a curly 
 
 j{- I vill tak ma cash his tail vas so curly as ma Deor.? 
 ^ J.^And, pray, where were you going .^ir tirifap- 
 
 M. I vas going to de sign of de Goose and Gridiron^ 
 .^^Z". Now, on your oath, what has a goose to do wilh a grid- 
 
 ma pocket. ' ^'^ ^ ^''' '^'^ '^^'^ ^^^-totum out of 
 
 ■* • Oh, youlostatee-totum did vnii? T+u i^ 
 bring you to somethi,,, aulsl Mv T ^ / '' "^'f '''°''''' 
 lake an execution to ?,„,„. ^^ "'"''''• ' ^"^ '°™ W 
 into eonrt wi'S; c5el„ "rndT ""'""™' '" ""'" ■«" »"" 
 
 i.^'^na^^gr/AJI'Sii^r"''' '' "■" ' "- ^- "*>'- 
 
 which ...n, ..4 yo^lr.aft;.'' T/tilrar^lT' 
 my sagacity, observation and so fr>rHr if f ' ^"^ ^"^ 
 iumselfsafe; but now he ^ as Jl^Cd'w ^^^^ ^* 
 expresses it, "let the cat out of the bag ' ^"'"^^^ 
 
 ? mJt^ *f ,"^^ ^'-^^h I had no cat in ma ba. 
 a tttSi"'i,t;'myT^^^^^ '^ ^^'^^ '^^^^ '^ vend 
 
 i« my duty to poinl 1^ to y^ th^^^^^^^^ f ''''^''''> '' 
 lawful machine, made of i^Lv ;,>h In """ /' ^'^ "^^- 
 
 for the purpose of Tamh n^^' ^ *^°'' ^'""*^*^ "i^«" i*. 
 
 teUng, or Ll ™* ;\ a."t' I "T 7 *'^''- 
 eontcnd tliat tliis mmCLTi ^'^^ ""erefore, I do 
 
 he i. con,e,^X""« X^^r^ '"""^ ~'-' -" 
 
 Counsellor Bothpren. tJ-en -o-p- ° tf "- 
 men of the jury,™^ leared S-puli'Tf; ""''*■"'''• 
 
328 
 
 GOODY ORIM V, LAPSTONfi. 
 
 ;,V 
 
 I'ii" 
 
 m 
 
 i Hl-f ■ 
 
 ■t 
 
 ml jK crf^. 
 
 
 Itli 
 
 Ji 
 
 ■ 
 
 1 
 
 honourable evidence of the Jew merchant. And I do con- 
 tend, that he who buys and sells, is, bonajide, inducted into 
 all the mysteries of merchandise ; ergo, he who merchandizes, 
 is, to all intents and purposes, a merchant. My learned 
 friend, in the twistings and turnings of his argument, in 
 handling tho tee-totum, can only be called obiter dictum;— 
 he inlaying, my Lord, a losing game. Gentlemen ! he has 
 told you the origin, use, and abuse of the tee-totum ; but 
 gentlemen ! he has forgot to tell you what that great lumi- 
 nary of the law, the late learned Coke, has said on the sub- 
 ject, in a case exactly similar to this, in the 234th folio 
 volume of the Abridgment of the Statutes, page 1349, where 
 he thus lays down the law, in the case of Hazard vasus 
 Qh.cW,g%—*Gamblendum comistet, enactum gamblendi, sed 
 non evendum macheni placendi' My Lord, I beg leave to 
 Bay, that, if I prove my client was in the act of vending, 
 and not playing with the said instrument—the tee-totum— 
 I humbly presume that all my learned friend has said will 
 come to the ground." 
 
 Judge. Certainly, brother Botherem, there's no doubt 
 the learned sergeant is incorrect ! The law does not put a 
 man extra legium for merely spinning a tee-totum. 
 
 Botherem. My Lord, one of the witnesses has owned that 
 the pig had a curly tail. Now, my Lord, I presume if I prove 
 the pig had a straight tail, the objection must be fatal 
 Judge. Certain'y; order the pig into court. 
 Here the pig was produced; and, upon examination, it 
 was found to have a straight +d!i, which finished the trial. 
 The learned judge, in summing up the evidence, addressed 
 the jury :— " Gentlemen of the jury, it is wholly unnecessary 
 to recapitulate the evidence; for the removal of this objec- 
 tion removes all ground of action. And notwithstanding 
 the ancient statute, which says, ' S'erium pigum, et boreum 
 pigum, et vendi curium tailum,' there is an irrefragable 
 proof, by ocular demonstration, that Goody Griiji's grunter 
 had a straight tail; and, therefore, the prisoner must be 
 acquitted." 
 
 This afi"air is thrown into Chancery, and it is expected it 
 will be settled about the end of the year lf)nO, 
 
SIH PKTKR AND LADY TEAZLi:. 
 
 329 
 
 VIII.- SIR PETER AND LADY TEAZLE. 
 
 (SHERIDAN.) 
 
 f'feter. Lac^y Teazle, Lady Teazle, I won't bear it.#- 
 Ladyleazle. Very well. Sir Peter, you may bear Tor 
 uot, just as you please ; but I Imow I ou^ht to have my own 
 way m every thing ; and, what's more, I wiU ^ 
 
 Jy^Pet. What, madam! is there no respect due to the 
 authority of a husband? 
 
 rln^' ^'^'•,^y''?{' ^«"'t J know that no woman of fashion 
 does as she's bid after her marriage ? Though I was bred in 
 
 be obedient, you should have adopted me, and not married 
 me— 1 ra sure you were old enough. 
 
 rnf inf^liw^: ^^'f '^ is-madam, what right have you to 
 run into all this extravagance ? 
 
 nf ^,5ir* ^'IIT^"^ ""^^ ^°'' extravagant than a woman 
 ot quality ought to be. 
 
 Sir Pet. Madam, I'll have no more sums squandered 
 away upon such unmeaning luxuries; you have as many 
 flowers m your dressing-rooms as would turn the Pantheon 
 into a green-house. 
 
 hint ^r\ Y' ^'L^^):^\ ^"^ I *" ^^^°^« th^t flowers don't 
 blow in cold weather? You must blame the climate, and 
 not me. I m sure for my part, I wish it were spring all the 
 year round, and that roses grew under our feet 
 JZi'^' ^If^^'I«ho"Id not wonder at your extrava- 
 
 Zl Lr" '^ ^''''- ^T^ '' ''' Had you any of these 
 things before you married me ? 
 
 L. Teaz. Dear Sir Peter, how can you be angry at those 
 httle elegant expenses? 
 
 SirFei. Had you any of those little elegant expenses 
 when you married me? ^ "expenses 
 
 L.Teaz. Very true, indeed; and after having married 
 you, I should never pretend to taste again. 
 
 Sir ret. Very well, very well, madam ; you have entirely 
 torgot what your situation was when I first saw you. 
 
330 
 
 sill rKTJilt AND LADY TfiAZLK. 
 
 IM 
 
 _ L. leaz. No, no, I have not; a very disagreeable sitiia- 
 tion It was, or I'm sure I never would have married yon. 
 
 Sir Pet. You forget the humble state I took you from— 
 the daughter of a poor country 'squire. When I came to 
 your father's, I found you sitting at your tambour, in a linen 
 gown, a bunch of keys at your side, and your hair combed 
 smoothly over a roll. 
 
 L. Teaz. Yes, I remember very well : my daily occupations 
 were, to overlook the dairy, superintend the poultry, make 
 extracts from the family receipt-book, and comb my aunt 
 Deborah's lap-dog. 
 
 Sir Pet. Oh, I am glad to find you hnve so good a recol- 
 lection. 
 
 L.Teaz. Myevening's employments were, to draw patterns 
 for ruifles, which I had not materials to make up; play at 
 Pope Joan with the cm ate; read a sermon to my aunt 
 Deborah ; or perhaps be stuck up at an old spinnet, to thrum 
 my father to sleep after a fox-chase 
 
 Sir Pet. Then you were glad to take a ride out behind the 
 butler, upon the old docked coach-hc.se, 
 
 L. Teaz. No, no ; I deny the butler and the coach-horse. 
 
 Sir Pet. I say you did. This was your situation. Now 
 madam, you must have your coach, visJl-vis, and three 
 powdered footmen to walk before your chair; and in sum- 
 mer two white cats to draw you to Kensington Gardens; 
 and, instead of your living in that hole " • the country, I 
 have brought you home here, made a woman of fortune 
 of you, a woman of quality— in short, I have made you my 
 wife. 
 
 L. Teaz. Well, and there is but one thing more you can 
 now add to the obligation, and that is— 
 Sir Pet. To make you my widow, I suppose. 
 L. Teaz. Hem ! — 
 
 Sir Pet. Very well, madam, very well ; I am much obliged 
 to you for the hint. 
 
 L. Teaz. Why, then, will you force me to say shocking 
 thmgs to you ? But now rye have finished our morning con- 
 versation, I presume I may go to my engagements at Lady 
 Sneerwell's. 
 
 Sir Pet. Lady Sneerwell— a precious acquaintance you 
 
I 
 
 SIR PETER AND LADY TEA/LE. ^3) 
 
 have made of her too, and the set thut frequent her Iiousc. 
 Such a act ! Many a wretch who has been drawn unon 
 H hurdle, has done less mischit. than those barterers of 
 lorged hes, comers of scandal, and clippers of rci)utation. 
 
 L. Uaz. How can you be so severe? I am sure they 
 are all people of fashion, and very tenacious of rcnuta- 
 tion. * 
 
 frPet. Yes, 80 tenacious of it, they'll not allow it to any 
 but themselves. 
 
 L. Teaz. I vow, Sir Peter, when I say an ill-natured thing, 
 I mean no harm by it, for I take it for granted they'd do the 
 6ame by me. 
 
 Sir Pet. They've made you as bad as any of them. 
 L. Teaz. Yes, I think I bear my part with a tolerable 
 grace. 
 Sir Pet. Grace, indeed ! 
 
 L. Teaz. Well but, Sir Peter, you know you promised to 
 come. 
 
 Sir Pet. Well, I shaU just call in to look after my own 
 character. 
 
 L. Teaz. Then, upon my word, you must make haste after 
 me or you'll bo too late. [Exit Lady Teazle. 
 
 i,ru ^ , • ^^^ ^^^^ ^y ^3" intended expostulation. 
 
 What a charming air she has ! and how pleasantly she shows 
 her contempt of my authority ! Well, though I can't make 
 her love me, 'tis some pleasure to tease her a little j and I 
 think she never appears to such advantage, as when she is 
 doiitg everything to vex and plague me.